


If You Want This Dance, Offer Me Your Hand

by The_Fannish_Imposition



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Accidental Cuddling, Domestic Fluff, Established Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fashion Consultant Peter, Fluff and Angst, Food, Friends to Lovers, However Many Other Tropes I Can Cram In Here, Like Seriously Why Is Someone Always Eating Something, M/M, Oblivious Peter, Oh No He's Hot, Slow Burn, Slow Dancing, Wedding Fluff (minor), idiots to lovers really, tags and rating subject to change
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-10
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:47:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 43,319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27984057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Fannish_Imposition/pseuds/The_Fannish_Imposition
Summary: Peter accidentally invites himself along as Noah's plus one to a family wedding.  Oh no, whatever might happen?  *wink, wink*  AKA  Every pairing deserves a fake dating fic.
Relationships: Peter Hale/Sheriff Stilinski
Comments: 103
Kudos: 124





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> It occurred to me that I'd never seen a fake dating fic for these two (if I've just missed them, please send them my way, I'd love to see other people's takes on this :D ), and eventually decided to give it a shot myself. This story is blatantly self-indulgent and trope-tastic, completely unbeta'd, and I'm not sorry in the slightest. Please enjoy. ;D

The stench of frustration and mounting irritation wafting from the next room was starting to make Peter’s nose itch, and thoroughly distracting him from the problem he was attempting to help Stiles with. He had been trying to at least _pretend_ to be polite enough not to eavesdrop on the Sheriff’s Skype call, but it was becoming more and more difficult by the moment. His nephew appeared to be having a similar issue if the way he was subtly shifting in his seat was any indication. Despite his efforts to control his expression, something must have given the game away to Stiles, because he broke off with a sigh and a slight eye roll.

“I’m guessing by now he’s probably talking with his Aunt Ruth, which would explain whatever it is that’s bothering you two.” Stiles looked profoundly unconcerned by this, which eased some of his distraction, but he felt a curious eyebrow twitch up of its own volition.

“Let’s just say he tries to avoid conversations with her as much as possible, for a myriad of reasons, and is super pissed that he can’t right now.”

“Dare I ask why not?”

“Because her granddaughter is getting married, and we’ve been guilt-tripped into attending. And since she’s the one organizing the accommodations for the most part, that means she’s the one he has to deal with. Which is likely also a part of the problem – because Derek is coming as my plus one whether she ‘agrees with our lifestyle’ or not,” Stiles explained, voice going firm at the end and reaching over to lay a possessive hand on his still silent nephew’s knee. Derek sent him a soft smile in return, and covered the hand with one of his own. Weren’t they just so sweet? It was almost enough to give one cavities.

“Why am I finding it difficult to believe that neither you nor your father could manage to bullshit your way out of attending something like this?” Peter asked with a wry smirk. Stiles shrugged.

“Well, as a rule we would, but when she called to find out why we hadn’t responded about going, my Ciocia Magdalena was visiting her, and started guilting us about how long it’s been since we visited, and how she’s getting on in years, after all. Which, fair, she _is_ technically my _great_ -great-aunt, but also is total lies because she can and would kick my ass if I actually referred to her as such, and I’m pretty sure nothing less than a nuclear strike is gonna take Lena down before she’s ready to go. But she’s also one of the only family members we actually like, and I decided it was a great chance to introduce Derek to her, so I told Dad to say we’d go.”

Peter felt his smirk growing even wider. “How touching. Valiantly risking judgmental relatives, awkward celebratory activities, and your father’s not-inconsiderable wrath for the sake of love.”

The couple shot him matching deadpan expressions and flipped him off in unison. He was tempted to continue needling them – it was a favorite pastime after all – but another wave of suppressed anger hit him from the Sheriff’s direction, prickling along his skin and jittering along his nerves. His interest thoroughly piqued, he stood from his chair with as much nonchalance as he could fake, and sauntered off towards the source of his distraction, focusing his hearing to try and catch a hint of the current state of the conversation.

“Well, as I’ve been _trying_ to explain…,” the voice was female, officious, and bearing an edge of petulant entitlement. Exactly the sort of voice to start fights at a PTA meeting. Peter felt an immediate sympathy for the amount of time Noah had probably been listening to it. “We’ve been attempting to get everyone hotel rooms together to make transportation to everything easier, but there appears to be a sports competition of some sort the same weekend that’s booked most of them up, so the more ...last minute… attendees are having to be housed with nearby family.”

By this point Peter had made it far enough into the dining room to get a glimpse of the screen of the laptop sitting open on the table, and learn that the source of the voice looked pretty much exactly as he might have expected. Artificially blonde hair sprayed into a listless immobility surrounded a face that might once have been beautiful before years of spiteful maliciousness and a trophy wife lifestyle took their toll. She seemed fully prepared to continue dominating the conversation, and had in fact drawn breath to do so, when Noah took (somewhat desperate) advantage of her pause to jump in.

“Yes, I am fully aware of the situation at this point. What I don’t understand is why we can’t just stay with Lena? Particularly since she was the one who was adamant we attend.” His tone was calm and even, what Peter decided must be his Public Official Voice (similar to a Customer Service Voice, but with more assertiveness and inherent authority.) The pushed up sleeves of his henley gave Peter an excellent view of the flex of his forearm muscles as he clenched and unclenched his fist beneath the table. Thankfully this was well out of the sight of the woman now rambling on again.

“Because, Noah, I already have Janine and Richard staying with her. They always complain that their children never get to spend any time with her. And,” her voice turned falsely delicate, “I thought the neighbors might be a bit more …comfortable… with another family next door. Perhaps the children might even play together.”

Noah’s polite almost smile grew even more strained, and his voice hardened. “First of all, the only reason they want their kids to spend time with her is to unload them so they can hit the nightclubs. Second, neither the kids nor Lena particularly like each other. Third, the Morrison’s kids are at least five years or more older than Janine’s, and won’t want anything to do with them. Fourth, Lena hasn’t wanted anything to do with said neighbors since Greg mowed down her lilies because he wasn’t paying attention to the property line, so she won’t care in the slightest what they may or may not be ‘comfortable’ with. She would much rather have us staying with her. Ask her yourself, or I’ll be happy to call and confirm.”

For a moment Peter thought the fiery rage in the woman’s eyes would melt the bland, expressionless mask right off her face, but she somehow choked it back down. “That won’t be necessary, Noah dear, I’m sure you’re right, and she’d be just delighted to have you all. I’ll alert her to the change in plans. To confirm, it will be yourself, Stiles, and his…,” she momentarily trailed off as she appeared to mentally cycle through several deeply unappealing options, “his _friend_ , Derek, I believe you said his name was?”

The knuckles of Noah’s clenched fist went temporarily white as his nostrils flared with a calming breath. “Yes, it will be my son and his boyfriend, as well as myself.”

“Such a shame you’ll be unaccompanied this time. Weddings always tend to be just full of happy romantic memories.” Noah’s face was like carved stone, and Peter heard the bones of his hand creaking under the pressure of his grip.

Peter wasn’t certain what came over him. Maybe it was her implicit judgment and disdain for both his nephew and Stiles, both of whom he was rather protective of, in his own way. Maybe it was some faint need to try and lessen Noah’s obvious upset in light of the weird not-really-friends-but-no-longer-really-enemies thing they’d had going lately. Maybe it was his own innate need to instigate chaos, spread mischief, and generally just be an obnoxious shit sometimes. Maybe it was some combination of all three. Whatever the reason(s), he found himself opening his mouth without his own conscious decision.

“Don’t forget about me,” he called, striding further into the room. The look of shock and confusion on Noah’s face as he spun towards him was frankly priceless, and made him even more determined to go through with his impromptu, and admittedly likely crazy, idea.

“Peter? What…” Peter interrupted before he could get any more of his question out.

“One of our clients decided to settle, so I managed to get the time off after all. Didn’t I tell you, honey?” As he was talking, he walked up behind the other man, throwing a brief, polite smile at the woman on the screen, before dropping his gaze to lock with Noah’s. He very deliberately and possessively slid his hands over Noah’s shoulders to further reinforce precisely what he was suggesting. Wide-eyed incredulity quickly gave way to a deeply calculating look (thankfully out of Ruth’s view), before melting into a warmly fond smile that would have even fooled Peter if it had reached the Sheriff’s eyes.

“No, I hadn’t heard yet. That’s great news, sweetheart. On both counts.” The hand that had been fisted under the table came up to grip lightly at the arm Peter had wrapped around Noah’s shoulders as he leaned in closer to the webcam’s view, thumb stroking softly along his forearm. Noah’s smile shaded towards a smirk as he swiveled back to face the now bug-eyed woman on the laptop screen. “Looks like it’ll be four of us, not three, since Peter’s able to make it after all.”

He tilted his head to rest his temple against Peter’s cheek as Peter gave her the same cheerful if blandly courteous smile he’d sent her earlier. He felt mildly twitchy at all the unexpected contact, but fought to keep it strictly internal. Ruth’s bald-faced surprise had shifted to the expression of someone who’d unexpectedly bitten into a lemon. By some effort of sheer will she forced out a brittle smile that was all teeth.

“How delightful. I’ll be sure to let Ciotka Magda know of ALL the changes in her guests for that weekend. I’m sure everyone will be very excited to meet your… everyone.”

“Oh, we’re very much looking forward to it, as well,” Peter assured her firmly.

“Yes. Well. If you’ll excuse me, I still have a number of other attendees to confirm with. Noah, I’ll email you an itinerary as soon as I get all the details locked in. I’m sure your hostess will be in contact soon, as well,” she added with a faintly malicious air. “Do enjoy the rest of your evening.”

“Always a pleasure talking to you, Ruthie,” Noah said, reaching out quickly to end the call. The sturdy shoulders beneath Peter’s arms seemed to almost melt with the release of tension. He realized he should probably let go and brace himself for the fallout. But Noah’s hand was still around his wrist, and yanking away suddenly might be a bit rude even for him. Before he had a chance to come to a decision, the expected response came from a very unexpected direction.

“WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCKING FUCK?!” Stiles stood in the doorway looking not unlike a deer in the proverbial headlights. Derek was visible just past him, face set in the studiously blank expression that Peter knew meant he was laughing hysterically on the inside.

“Hey! Language!” Noah finally let go of him to point sternly in his son’s direction.

“Okay, first off, I’m over 18 now and can say what I want. Secondly, no really, what the fucking fuck? Did you really just imply to Ruth that you’re going to be bringing Peter along as your boyfriend? Is that really what just happened?”

“It certainly sounded that way to me,” Derek chimed in, amusement lacing his tone and a smirk starting to curl the edges of his mouth despite his best efforts. “I’d say her expression of appalled dismay suggests she thought the same, though to be fair that may have just been a general reaction to Peter.”

Peter finished straightening up from where he’d been draped over Noah, spinning to lean one hand on the back of his chair and shooting his nephew a highly unimpressed look. Stiles flailed his hands to re-draw focus.

“A reasonable point, but one which still doesn’t answer my question. Because that was most definitely the impression you two were going for, don’t even try to pretend otherwise. Seriously, where the hell did that come from?”

“I’ve been rather wondering that myself. Care to enlighten us, Peter?” Noah twisted to glance up at him, eyebrows raised in determined inquiry. The problem was that Peter still didn’t quite know what had motivated his actions. Eventually he just shrugged with as much indifference as he could muster.

“It seemed like a good idea at the time.” The other three men all rolled their eyes in an admittedly impressive display of synchronization. He glanced down at his unwitting partner in mischief. “You didn’t have to go along with it, you know. What’s your excuse?”

Noah held his gaze for a moment, the stormy blue-gray eyes giving nothing away. Finally he calmly shrugged and repeated back to him in a deliberately identical tone; “It seemed like a good idea at the time.”

Derek was looking more amused by the second, while Stiles was just looking a thousand percent _done_. “You do realize you’re now going to have to go through with this nonsense? She’s going to tell anyone and everyone she talks to. There will be no backing out. You’ll have to do it, and be convincing about it. How the hell do you plan to manage that? Dad, you don’t even _like_ Peter!”

Peter shot a glare his direction because, while true, that was still _rude_ , and opened his mouth to leap to his own defense. However, he never got the chance.

“I like Peter just fine, despite the violent tendencies and somewhat questionable taste in sports teams. The former has mostly tapered off, anyway, and the latter I can overlook for one weekend.”

That brought Peter up short on several fronts for a moment. He finally managed a very strangled, “Excuse me?!” that got lost beneath Stiles’ cry of “Oh, my God!” as the boy quite literally facepalmed. Really, and Peter got accused of being the dramatic one? Noah just sighed at his son’s antics.

“Stiles, if I can make it through fundraising dinners listening to the mayor reciting yacht specs like I have the faintest clue what they mean while his wife spews her latest asinine anti-vax, essential oil theories without stabbing either one of them in the throat with my fork, I can get through this just fine.”

Stiles threw his hands up in despair, and Derek reached out a hand to rub soothingly along his back. “Hey, look on the bright side, it’ll take some of the pressure off of us, at least. And I suspect it’ll definitely be entertaining to watch no matter how it goes.”

Peter wanted to be indignant on their behalf, but Derek had finally given in to the grin he’d been fighting, and he just couldn’t bring himself to risk disturbing it. His nephew still smiled so rarely anymore. Noah shot the pair a wry look.

“Well, thank you so much for that vote of confidence, son.” Derek’s grin turned shy and a light blush tipped his ears and outlined the upper edge of his scruff at the endearment. “It’s so nice to see young people showing respect for their elders.” Noah’s tone was so dry Peter half expected to see the ficus in the corner start to spontaneously wilt. While impressive, he felt it was more than time to speak up for himself.

“Okay, hold on a moment. Exactly whom are you calling an ‘elder’, old man? And I don’t recall saying I’d actually do this at any point.”

Aside from a single raised eyebrow, Noah’s face was as bland as his tone as he replied. “Well, since you asked, by ‘elder’ I was referring to those of us in the room who have reached the point of having to check for gray hairs in the mirror-” Peter’s gaze narrowed and he straightened to his full height “- and what’s the matter, Hale, lack the courage of your convictions? Given some of the things I know you’ve faced, I wouldn’t have thought a handful of people you’ve never met and are unlikely to see again would be so intimidating. But then I know some people do place an awful lot of importance on other’s opinions of them.”

Peter’s gaze narrowed even more if that was possible, and a muscle began to tick in his jaw. Derek had adopted a faux casual pose during Noah’s speech, crossing one arm over his chest and using the his other hand to try and cover his smile (and failing miserably at it.) Stiles meanwhile was desperately attempting to copy his father’s almost aggressively neutral expression, but couldn’t quite match his level of mastery. He forced himself to take a calming breath.

“I know what you’re trying to do, and it won’t work. I’ve never been the insecure type, and I’m certainly not rising to such obvious bait.”

“Mmm.” Noah nodded briefly. “Probably for the best, really. You can be charming when you want to be, but you’re really not that great of a liar. I doubt you could keep it up the whole weekend without giving the game away, anyway.”

Peter felt his jaw drop open in shock as Derek finally lost his battle against his snickering. “Now _that_ was COMPLETELY uncalled for-”

“Oh, I don’t know, Daddio,” Stiles interrupted, “he might be able to deal with most of the guests, but Lena’d see through him in a heartbeat. I’ll give you that.”

Peter’s teeth were almost audibly grinding at this point.

“You’re probably right about that, kiddo. They don’t tend to be the sharpest bunch, but she’s always been pretty impervious to bullshit and idle flattery. Which would unfortunately knock out a major chunk of his skill set.”

He saw Stiles’ mouth opening for a rejoinder and decided he’d had quite enough at this point. “VERY WELL. If you’re all so _desperately_ determined to drag me into going along with this farce, then fine, I’ll do it. You can stop with the wholly undeserved – and may I point out completely inaccurate – character assassination.”

Amusement was starting to crack through Noah’s stoic demeanor. “Thank you for agreeing to help us deal with a problem initially caused by you, Peter.”

He tried another calming breath and forced his posture to relax. “If you’re all quite done here, I believe we were attempting to help Stiles with something?”

“Eh, I needed a break anyway. Do we wanna just go ahead and order in something for dinner while we try to figure out how to handle this horrific, rom-com-esque mess?”

Noah stood from his chair and stretched, unintentionally forcing Peter a couple steps back as his vision was suddenly filled with cotton-clad bicep. The Sheriff gave his son a bemused smile. “Well, I’m certainly not going to pass up any opportunity you give me to get junk food.”

“Ha ha. Just for that, only veggies for you. I don’t care where we order from.”

Noah just rolled his eyes with a long-suffering sigh, and started herding them all back towards the living room, closing his laptop and scooping it up as he went.

“If you’re going to make me do wedding strategizing and backstory work, you owe me real food, not rabbit food.”

“...we’ll see.”

“Just pick somewhere, Stiles.” Noah turned in the doorway and jerked his head briefly towards the living room. His smile was wry and teasing, but warmer than Peter was entirely used to yet. “C’mon, Peter. I’m pretty sure you should at least buy me dinner before pretending to be my boyfriend.”

“God, I’m going to regret this forever, aren’t I?”

His only answer was a widening of the other man’s smile as he left the room. Peter rolled his eyes and followed with far less reluctance than he pretended. Maybe… maybe this wouldn’t be a _complete_ trainwreck.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, there are so many more people interested in this than I expected there to be. XD Thank you all so very much for your kind words and encouragement. I was going to try and hold out a little longer, but this was part of the already finished section, and I'm both nervous and excited to see what you guys think.
> 
> Please enjoy this first appearance of Fashion Consultant Peter, the first stirrings of Oblivious Peter, and a little bit of Accidental Cuddling, as a treat. ;D

“Peter, what the hell are you doing in my closet?” Noah’s voice sounded like it was thankfully more bemused than annoyed, but Peter knew that it could be a fine line to walk.

“Trying not to cry in despair, for the most part. Why is everything you own at least a size too big and some shade of brown?” Peter called back over his shoulder, still staring at the somewhat neatly organized rainbow of dull, listless neutrals in growing dismay.

“I’m wearing a green shirt right now, asshole, and not all of us are interested in looking like we got squeezed into our clothing by force. Some of us actually acknowledge our age, and try to dress somewhat appropriately. Some of us also understand the value of blending in.”

“Okay, firstly, age, as they say, is just a number. Secondly, there’s trying not to stand out, and there’s just giving up. Though frankly, I’ve never quite put much stock in either.”

“Color me shocked to hear that from someone I’ve seen wear a cardigan like it was an actual shirt on more than one occasion.”

Peter shrugged as he continued to rifle through hangers and peek into storage containers, though he wasn’t certain that Noah could even see him from within the depths of the walk-in. “If you’ve got it, flaunt it.” The sigh that answered him held a level of long-suffering, begrudging patience that Peter was far more used to hearing directed at Stiles than himself.

“Will you please just get out of the damn closet – and don’t even think about making a joke out of that – we need to go over some of the stuff for the wedding.”

“Just for you I shall attempt to contain myself. As soon as I get an explanation for the contents of the box I just found.” He held a few of the items up as he attempted to reconcile his discovery with the man he’d been coming to know.

“...What box?” Noah’s voice had a distinctly nervous edge that he was very much trying (and failing) to conceal, and oh, didn’t that just raise the most interesting questions? He was almost sad to abandon his exploration. Walking to the door of the closet he held up a few of his finds. The t-shirts, one featuring the remnants of an AC/DC logo, the other proclaiming “Flawless Victory” in a very distinctive font, had likely both once been black, now faded to an indeterminate charcoal shade. The flannel shirts, however, were still as violently colorful as they’d originally been, though worn thin and ragged in numerous places. He raised an eyebrow as he smirked at the obviously uncomfortable Sheriff.

“I might have thought these discarded bits of your son’s wardrobe, but they’re all far too old to belong to Stiles. Dare I even ask?”

“Don’t be a dick. Astonishingly enough I was young once myself. And I’ve never quite understood why everyone is amazed to learn that Stiles didn’t get EVERYTHING from Claudia.”

Personally, Peter thought that Noah and his son were far more alike that most ever noticed or gave credit for. Peter, however, had never been most people. He decided to set the issue aside for now and focus on why he’d initially been on his quest.

“That somehow does not reassure me about why I’m here. We need to figure out what you’ll be wearing to this … event. I tried asking Stiles what kind of suits you had, he got as far as describing the plaid shirt you wore for your date with Natalie and I blacked out in horror for a moment. By the time I came back around he was going on about how the bride keeps sending him angry texts about her grandmother’s continued efforts to take control of the ceremony. I must say it sounds as though she’s not putting up with any more of Ruth’s nonsense than she has to, at least.”

“Well, that certainly explains why she’s been even more of a bitch than normal about this. And I can’t say I’m surprised. ‘Headstrong’ is perhaps the nicest way to describe the majority of Stilinskis.”

“Oh, really? I hadn’t particularly noticed.” Peter’s voice was dry as a California drought.

“Ha ha. And there was nothing wrong with that shirt, or with any of my clothes, thank you very much. Any of my suits will work just fine for this. I don’t care enough to make more of an effort to be honest.”

“Too bad. If I’m going to be seen at this with you, you’re going to have to at least pretend to make an effort. Besides, imagine how much angrier she’ll be if you turn up looking like something out of a magazine spread instead of a rumpled mess.”

“Excuse you, I looked just fine, thanks. And I hate suit shopping. Violently.”

“That much was evident from the style and fit of them. I doubt any of them are less than a decade old, are they? I shudder to imagine how you look for campaign events.”

“Keep it up and I’ll just wear my dress uniform.”

Peter let his eyes roam up and down Noah’s trim figure. “Tempting. But no. Not unless you want everyone to be subtly nervous that you’re going to suddenly arrest someone. Actually... never mind. Still no.”

Noah rolled his eyes and sighed, one hand coming up to massage his temple. “Fine. If I agree to allow you more input on what I wear for the wedding, can we move along to more important issues?”

“I feel like you’re severely underestimating the importance of sartorial standards, but if we must.”

“Thank you,” Noah’s tone dripped with sarcasm. “If you would be so kind as to return those to where you found them, and then join me downstairs. We have a bunch of details to hammer out.” Peter wasn’t certain what kind of expression his face was making, but he could feel some of his intense disinterest breaking through. “Don’t even start. It’s your own fault you’re in this situation in the first place, so just suck it up and deal with it.” With that he turned and left Peter alone in the bedroom.

With a weary sigh Peter put the shirts back in their box and ambled down the stairs in search of his unwilling associate. He found Noah sitting in the living room nursing a beer. Knowing that he didn’t actually drink all that often anymore, Peter was immediately on the alert, more certain than ever that he wasn’t going to enjoy this particular conversation. Lowering himself with vague trepidation onto the opposite end of the couch, he was startled when Noah suddenly offered him a bottle of his own. Not wanting to appear rude (god, trying to play nice was annoying at times), he accepted it and took a cautious sip, only to be pleasantly surprised when it turned out to not be entirely terrible. It was rather fruity, in fact. Looking at the label he saw that it was actually a hard cider, mixed with strawberries, apparently. He glanced over at Noah with a questioning eyebrow raise. The Sheriff shrugged nonchalantly, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

“You’ve complained loudly and often about my taste in beverages. Thought something like this might go over a bit better. Given the way you demolished that bag of freeze dried strawberries Stiles kept trying to foist on me as a ‘healthy snack’, this seemed like the best flavor option”

Peter … wasn’t entirely sure what to do with any of that, really, (especially the strange jittery tension it was causing in his chest) so he just gave a politely acknowledging noise, staring awkwardly off into the distance as he sipped his drink and silently willed Noah to move the conversation along. Thankfully, he obliged, though the expression on his face was far more knowing than Peter cared to think about, his scent still bright with sparkles of amusement.

“So you realize we’re at least going to have to come up with _some_ backstory about our ‘relationship’ ahead of time, right? I know you’re fond of exaggeration and making it up as you go, but agreeing about as many details beforehand as we can will significantly reduce the chances of anyone figuring out the truth.”

Peter heaved another put-upon sigh. “Very well. Tell me what terrible ideas you’ve come up with so far.”

“Thanks so much for believing in me and my capabilities, honey. Your faith in me is what helps keep our love strong.” Noah fluttered his eyelashes at him with a hideously saccharine smile, and Peter rolled his eyes so hard he was amazed they didn’t pop right out of his skull. “Now, I thought it would be best, and easiest really, to keep things simple and as close to the truth as possible: While we’d distantly known each other off and on for years, small town and all, we didn’t really become close until Stiles and Derek met and started seeing each other. Once we were forced to spend some time together we realized that we got along surprisingly well, and actually have a fair amount in common. Eventually we realized that there was a definite mutual interest, and after a bit of the usual awkwardness, you broke down and asked me out. And now here we are.”

“Wait, why am I the one who caved and asked you out?”

“Because you’re younger, better looking, and a hell of a lot richer. Do I look like I enjoy rejection that much? Also, you’re far more flirtatious by nature.”

“Telling me things that I already know are true doesn’t exactly answer my question, but I take your point.”

“Mmm, and so humble, too. How could I ever resist your boundless charms?”

“Flattery will get you nowhere.”

“Why do I somehow get the feeling that that’s a complete and utter lie?”

“I’m quite certain I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Noah just eyed him doubtfully as he finished the last of his cider. Setting the empty bottle on the side table he turned back to Peter, twisting to fully face him. “Now, presuming that set-up is _amenable_ to you, we still need to come up with a few types of dates we’ve been on, things we’ve done together, etc. I figured that would be better decided between both of us, to keep things balanced, and help make sure we both know the stories we’re telling.”

Peter discarded his own empty bottle and shifted to mirror Noah’s pose. As he considered a few potential options, the Sheriff continued, tone slowly growing more teasing as he talked.

“I thought we’ll have been dating about 4-5 months at this point. Long enough to be fairly secure and stable, but not quite long enough for distant relatives to have heard or for you to have let me drive one of the Shelby’s yet. I suspect you’re saving that for our 6 month anniversary.”

“Please. Do you have any idea how expensive those vehicles are? That’s a 1 year present, at minimum. I do like the rest of your reasoning, however.”

“A year, huh? I’ll keep that in mind.” Noah sent him a quick wink that made the most oddly flustered feeling flicker through him. He determinedly tried to shake it off. “And was that nearly a compliment? From Peter Hale? Careful, I might start to feel almost flattered.”

“Well, when you aren’t stubbornly clinging to willful ignorance, you’re actually far more intelligent than you generally let on.” Peter’s tone was somewhat sharper than intended, but he was still feeling peculiarly off-kilter. He regretted it as he saw Noah’s expression shutter a bit. Peter hadn’t even realized how open it had been until suddenly he was facing the stoic Official Business look he remembered so clearly from encounters long past. The mellow cheer of Noah’s scent had taken on a faint sour edge that was making Peter’s nostrils threaten to flare and twitch. He tried to think of some way to take it back or at least subtly express his remorse, but kept tripping himself up on the fact that he even _wanted_ to do such a thing. Since when did he care about things like that, anyway?

“Since I’m very sure you, of all people, don’t want to get into a discussion of unfortunate past decisions and poor life choices, how about we shift focus to coming up with date ideas in case anyone wants to know how the ‘happy couple’ spends their time?”

Peter barely fought back the instinct to flinch, which would have been extra embarrassing given that Noah hadn’t even raised his voice. He cleared his throat and forcibly wrapped his usual serene cockiness around himself like a cloak. “Excellent suggestion. What sort of blandly prosaic pastimes would be most believable to your relatives? Antiquing? Trips to Olive Garden? NASCAR rally?”

Noah sighed, one hand briefly coming up to rub between his eyes like he was attempting to dispel a headache. “Look, I’m sorry. Just because I would prefer to avoid the whole weekend like the plague, doesn’t mean I should take it out on you. And say what you like, those breadsticks are goddamn delicious. Don’t think you haven’t taken me there at least once.”

“That place is an insult to real Italian food. I know of several far superior places to take you, whose breadsticks are just as worthy if not more so, thank you very much.”

“Can I get the curly, twisty pasta with alfredo sauce and fried chicken chunks? That one’s my favorite.”

The only thing allowing Peter to keep the threatening eye twitch at bay was the almost complete certainty that Noah was deliberately messing with him, and he refused to give him the satisfaction. “I’m certain that even most of the high quality establishments I’ve visited have some sort of children’s menu. Normally I’d say you’d have a bit of difficulty passing the age requirement, but I’m sure they’d be willing to make an exception for such an esteemed personage as a county sheriff.”

Those sea-storm eyes were _definitely_ dancing now. “As long as I can get my curly noodles I don’t care what menu I’m using.”

“And here I thought it was curly _fries_ that were your weakness.”

“What can I say? I guess I just have a secret fondness for things that are a little bit twisted.” That strange, fidgety feeling started trying to claw its way into Peter’s chest cavity again. “But, how about a compromise? I’ll agree to let you pick some fancier restaurants for us to have visited, if you agree that you first asked me out when we were spending the day at the batting cages with Stiles and Derek.”

“Batting cages?!”

“We’ll get the added bonus of being able to hassle them for being so distracted by each other that they didn’t even notice what was going on with us. I, of course, will argue that it counts as our actual first date, while you insist that it was a few nights later when you took me to that little hipster-y place just off Main St that serves a wide variety of game meats.”

“Ooh, that place IS amazing. An excellent choice, actually. Very well, I suppose I can agree to your horrific baseball compromise for that. Although we both know that I’m the one who’s correct about which is the official first date.”

“Are you sure about that? You were awfully quick to keep jumping in to ‘help me with my stance’ anytime I missed a ball. Pretty sure that was just your excuse to keep getting up close, personal, and more than a little bit handsy.”

“And here I was pretty sure it was because your form was absolutely terrible.” Peter let his eyes give the other man a playful once over. “Though I suppose I can see why others might interpret things differently. I mean, really, who would blame me?”

“Uh-huh.” Noah’s unimpressed look was on point, as the kids would say, but the bright pink tips of his ears clearly gave the victory to Peter. “So, that should cover most of what we need, no one’s likely to really want too much detail. We can also add in trips to the movies, the Farmer’s Market, nights in watching sports, holiday dinners with Stiles and Derek, stuff like that if need be.”

Peter tilted his head in consideration as he thought about it. “What’s truly strange is how much of that we’ve actually done. Can the Farmer’s Market really be considered a date-worthy activity, though?”

“Have you never noticed how many couples are wandering around holding hands and feeding each other samples?”

“No, I’m usually too distracted by how utterly terrible you are at grocery shopping. I sympathize with so many of Stiles’ complaints now.”

“If you don’t like what I buy, you are welcome to stop coming over and raiding my fridge any time you like.” Peter just sniffed haughtily and looked away. “Any way, speaking of couple-ish behavior, that brings me to the more potentially awkward part of the evening.” Peter immediately felt himself tensing up again as Noah visibly braced himself to continue. “While we probably won’t need to get super carried away with it, a certain amount of... affectionate contact will be expected. Which means you’re going to have to be comfortable with me touching you. Is that going to be possible?”

Peter turned fully around to sit normally on the couch, facing the darkened television. He crossed his arms over his chest and gave a casual shrug as he kicked his feet up onto the coffee table. “I don’t see why you think that would be a problem. It’s perfectly logical that that sort of thing will be necessary. I assume it’s no issue for you, either?”

“ _I_ don’t have any problems with the idea, but I’ve had more than enough training to roughly understand what trauma-induced touch aversion is, and how it could affect this situation. Just because Derek is more obvious about it, doesn’t mean he’s the only Hale affected by it.”

Peter let out a derisive snort. “Sounds like someone’s been listening to too much talk radio in the squad car.”

Noah gave Peter the kind of long considering look that probably made suspects start to fidget within moments (Peter, however, was made of sterner stuff) before slowly shifting along the couch to sit right next to the wolf, leaning back and loosely mimicking his pose. Silence reigned for a while as they sat there, pressed together from shoulder to almost the knee, Peter fighting desperately to feign complete unconcern. He was so focused on not appearing as affected by the contact as he was that he almost jumped when Noah finally spoke.

“See, this is precisely what I meant. You were more relaxed when I had a literal gun in your face. And honestly a hell of a lot cockier.”

“To be fair, I was mostly too angry to be worried about your threats at the time. You’ll recall I had just been falsely accused of a number of crimes by someone who’d robbed me? And yet somehow I was the one being treated like a criminal?”

“True, but as you said, to be fair, you were the one that I knew _had_ actually murdered a number of people, including having personally watched you maul that assassin, and attack the girl accusing you. Forgive me if I considered you the greater POTENTIAL threat in the IMMEDIATE moment.” The Sheriff sighed, leaning back into the couch and throwing his arms along the back of it, Peter side-eyeing the movement but not giving any outward reaction. “Though admittedly in hindsight it was perhaps not the best way to try and diffuse the situation.”

Peter snorted, feeling his posture almost unconsciously begin to loosen as he adjusted to Noah’s proximity. “Oh, you don’t say? Besides, I doubt I was in any particular danger anyway. You had regular bullets in a gun you were wielding in your off hand. Even if you had managed to hit me it wouldn’t have done much damage.”

“Excuse you, I happen to be an excellent shot with both hands. And it was quite literally point blank range.”

“Whatever you say, _dear_ ,” he replied mockingly, settling into the unfamiliar weight of the arm that came forward to drape tentatively around his shoulders.

Noah stretched his other hand out to snag the remote, flicking on the TV and starting to flip idly through the channels. “Maybe one of our ‘dates’ will have been to the gun range and I’ll have proved it to you.”

“Oh yes, I can see it now, the Sheriff of Beacon Hills allowing _me_ , of all people, to handle his service weapon,” Peter scoffed, then flung a hand at the screen. “Ooh, wait go back, I missed the end of that game last week.”

Noah complied with ill grace. “Okay, firstly, overlooking all the potential for innuendo in that comment, I feel it worth pointing out that you’re basically armed at all times anyway. Also, really, Peter? The Knicks? And you wondered why I complained about your taste in teams. How about a little home state pride?”

“Says the man who’s such a die hard Mets fan he even managed to pass it on to his son.”

“...That’s beside the point. We aren’t talking about baseball right now.”

Peter couldn’t help but grin at the contrariness in the other man’s voice. “No, we’re talking about a vastly superior sport, frankly.”

“See? Terrible, terrible taste.” In defiance of his words, Noah’s own expression was starting to cave to amusement, and he gave Peter’s arm a friendly squeeze as they settled in to watch what remained of the second half. As the game went on Peter felt his muscles gradually unwinding as the low-grade buzz of adrenaline he’d had since he’d been told to come downstairs finished fading out of his system, pressing him more firmly into Noah’s arm. He eventually shifted down a bit to get more comfortable, not even noticing that his eyelids were growing heavier, surrounded by the familiar aromas of deep woods, coffee, sunshine, and gun oil that always seemed to cling to the other man. The next thing he knew he was blinking awake to see that he’d been covered with a blanket at some point, and the basketball game had been replaced by some sort of cooking show. His still fuzzy head was cushioned by Noah’s shoulder, his face practically buried in the soft cotton of his shirt, and he found himself momentarily seized by a hazy, terrified hope that he hadn’t drooled on the other man in his sleep. The unexpected nap, and his utter confusion over it even happening, seemed to wreak complete havoc with his internal filter, as well.

“You’d think with as many of those as you watch you’d be a better cook by now.”

“Oh, has Sleeping Beauty decided to grace us with his presence again?” Peter felt a blush of his own threatening at Noah’s teasing response, and just barely quashed it. Why did he feel so off his game tonight? He must be more tired than he’d realized. “And I am a pretty decent cook when I have the time. I’m just not a particularly healthy one.” Noah removed his arm from around the wolf, standing and stretching before gathering up their discarded bottles. “You’re welcome for DVR-ing the end of your Knicks blowout, by the way. Just make sure you watch it before Stiles tries to fill the damn thing up with whatever his latest binge show is.”

Startled by the sudden chill along the side of his body where Noah had been pressed, brain still coming back online ( **why** was it taking so long? just how deeply had he been sleeping?), Peter had to softly clear his throat and blink a few times before he managed a reply in anything approaching his normal tones.

“Thank you for your willingness to taint your DVR with my heretical tastes. And I’ll keep that in mind.” He rose from the sofa and stretched a bit himself, glancing at the (surprisingly late) time on his phone. “Was there anything else we needed to go over tonight?”

“Well, luckily I suspect neither of us has a particularly large social media presence, but we should probably get a few random pictures here and there before the wedding. I doubt anyone will ask, but probably better safe than sorry.”

Peter felt his eyes light up. “Just what sort of pictures did you have in mind? If they don’t need to be of us together I’m more than happy to text you a selection.”

“So help me god, Peter, if you send me nudes I will have Stiles spam your phone with every horrifying video from the bottom fringes of the internet he can find.” The pointed finger and stern expression had precisely zero effect on Peter’s smirk. “That being said, we should probably have a combo of separate and together. I think I’ve still got some from Thanksgiving and Christmas on my phone, I’ll ask the boys if they have any that might work. We have just over a week to get a few more here and there.” Noah looked coolly down at his phone, fingers moving quickly across its surface with more facility than Peter might have expected. “Actually, I’m pretty sure I got a couple good ones tonight that will make an excellent new wallpaper and lock screen for the weekend.”

Peter felt another chill sweep through him. “And just when did you manage that?” His tone was light but dangerous. Noah just raised an eyebrow at him, holding the phone up to show him the screen. It...was actually exactly the sort of blandly saccharine picture he’d expect to see in the Instagram feed of a twenty-something suburban housewife. He was obscurely impressed. The focus of the image was both pairs of their socked feet, sticking out from under the dark fleece, heels pressed together as they leaned away from each other. The game on the distant TV was heavily blurred but still obvious, the coloration of the court combining with the angle of their feet to make a vague heart-shape near the top of the picture. It was ridiculously cheesy, but somehow perfect for their needs. “I am...reluctantly impressed with how well that works. How much am I going to hate the rest?”

“There was only one more, and I can use a different one if you decide this one is a bit too much.” He unlocked the phone and flipped it back around. Peter...wasn’t entirely sure **how** he felt about the photo, to be honest. It was a selfie style picture of him asleep on Noah’s shoulder (no trace of drool, thank _god_ ), blanket tucked up around his shoulders and gently held in place by the arm still around him. At the very edge of the image he could make out Noah looking down at him, but he himself was most definitely the focus. He looked oddly, almost... _unfamiliarly_ peaceful...in a way that was making his skin prickle and itch. He could still barely believe he’d fallen asleep in the first place. But he’d be damned if he showed just how rattled he was feeling right now.

“It seems a sufficient level of nauseatingly sentimental, so I suppose I can allow it. Rest assured I will make sure my own choices are of a similar nature, however.” Noah rolled his eyes as he tucked his phone back into his pocket. “Now, if there was nothing else to go over this evening, I’m going to head home and try to catch up on some of the sleep I appear to so desperately need.” He headed to the front hall in search of his jacket and shoes, Noah following him to the living room doorway and leaning against the jamb. Settling the butter soft leather into place around his shoulders, he unlocked the door and turned smoothly back towards the Sheriff. “Keep your plans open this weekend, I’ll let you know once I’ve decide on the best options for finding you a decent suit.” Noah made a face like a child presented with a plate of vegetables, and Peter felt his mood improving exponentially. “And I’ll have a look through my camera roll and send you a few of the more...tasteful highlights to choose from.” He couldn’t resist throwing in a wink. Noah just sighed and raised a hand to briefly rub between his eyes again.

“Go home, Peter.”

“Trouble in Paradise already? Well, I can see when I’m not wanted.” Grinning, he pulled open the door and stepped out onto the porch. Noah came over to stand in the still open entryway, a reluctant smile spreading on his own face.

“Good night, Peter.” The tone was mocking, but somehow still softer than Peter was entirely prepared for. He felt himself responding in kind without any prior consideration (that was happening a disturbing amount around the other man, really.)

“Good night, Noah.” He watched as he closed the door, and waited until he heard the click of the deadbolt before turning and heading to his car. Sliding into the driver’s seat, he gave himself a firm shake, trying to dispel the lingering weirdness of the evening. Backing sedately out of the driveway, he waited until he was a good few blocks from the Sheriff’s house before flooring it, losing himself in the familiar comfort of the Cobra’s purr as he glided around curves and corners. By the time he’d made it back to his apartment and was curled up in the luxuriant warmth of his own smooth sheets, he’d almost convinced himself that he was feeling back to normal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Was one of those shirts a deliberate MK reference? Yes, yes it was, because I cannot help myself. XD
> 
> Sorry if anyone disagrees with the sports opinions expressed by anyone, my own opinion of sports pretty much boils down to "yes, those are indeed a thing."
> 
> Also, apologies if anything comes across weird or off with the whole touch thing. My approach to the subject was mainly based on a combo of internet research and what I remember noticing in the show itself. It is unlikely to be very accurate to RL, but then few things in romcoms are, anyway, are they?
> 
> Let me know if you guys like how it's going so far, or anything you'd like to see (no promises, but I can definitely take things under consideration.)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not sure where most of this chapter came from, but I liked it, so I kept it. This is my self-indulgent fluff-fest after all. XD Please enjoy more Oblivious Peter, now in full swing.

By the time Saturday rolled around, Peter had secured them an appointment that afternoon at one of the nicest suit shops he could find with an extensive off the rack selection, and a tailor whose skills (and speed) he could respect. He had texted the time along with a handful of his favorite selfies (not that he actually had that many, whatever Noah might think.) He managed to resist sending anything more… untoward… simply by virtue of the fact that he didn’t actually have any such photos on his phone right now. His life the last couple of years had not particularly lent itself to much in the way of adventures of a more amorous nature. It provided a wonderful excuse not to send one as a joke without having to examine why the thought of doing so made him feel so strange. There were more important things to worry about anyway. Such as how horrendously painful the other man was going to make their shopping trip later on.

Parking behind the squad car he let himself into the house and headed towards the kitchen. After the first couple of times he joined the Sheriff for his weekly foray to the Farmer’s Market, Noah had asked (somewhat facetiously) if he just wanted his own key so that he didn’t have to wait outside at the crack of dawn, and “you’re gonna come in and help yourself to the coffee anyway”. Peter informed him that he’d actually already made a copy of Stiles’ key, but that it felt impolite to use it outside emergency situations with out invitation (he was _trying_ to attempt a certain propriety, after all.) Noah had just rolled his eyes with a comment about there now being two of them, and resignedly told him to consider the invitation issued. Which was helpful, but really. He’d been doing this sort of thing since long before Stiles even learned to copy his first key card. A _little_ respect would be nice.

By the time he reached the back of the house, there was already a mug waiting on the table across from where Noah was seated, scanning the paper and absentmindedly spooning up the occasional mouthful of cereal. He plopped down into the empty seat, snagging the still steaming mug and taking a tentative sip. It was overly hot but delicious, made exactly the way he liked it in fact, and he stared down into the dark liquid in startled confusion as it slowly dawned on him that this was far from the first time that had happened. Despite his apparent fascination with the comics section, Noah must have caught the edges of his frown.

“Observation _is_ a rather important part of my job, you know,” he commented, laying the paper aside and finally looking over at Peter. The wolf gave him a flat look in response, taking another slow sip before bothering with a verbal reply.

“Yes, I am aware of that, thank you. It doesn’t mean I necessarily expect you to make my coffee for me when I come over.”

“Oh no, I might have to take a couple extra steps when making my own, however will I cope? Sorry for thinking you might appreciate a friendly gesture once in a while.”

Peter sighed in irritation. “It’s not that, it’s -” he paused, unsure of a way to finish that sentence that didn’t sound pathetic even to his own ears. _It’s that no one normally bothers noticing anything like that about me. It’s that I’m rarely the subject of a ‘friendly gesture’. It’s that people rarely even consider me a friend, which, fair_. None of those sounded any good in his head, and the grumpy, not-quite-annoyed-yet-but-getting-close, expression on Noah’s face combined with the reading glasses slipping slowly down his nose was giving him serious stern librarian/disappointed principal vibes that were causing all kinds of conflicting feelings to squirm through Peter’s insides that he was in no mood to deal with right now, so he finally just muttered out a half-gracious, “...thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” Noah took a drink of his own coffee before stirring dismally at his cereal. “You know, you’re lucky I bothered at all considering you’ve told me I’m not allowed to eat again until after I’m done trying on clothes for the day. You couldn’t have picked a day I actually had something decent left to eat for breakfast?” His tone grew more plaintive the longer he went on. Peter shrugged unsympathetically.

“Not my fault you failed to plan ahead properly.”

“Oh, and it’s somehow my fault I suddenly had three freeloaders invading my house and taking my food this week without replacing it, instead of just one?”

“I’m quite sure I don’t know what you’re referring to.” Peter leaned forward to stare into the bowl as his curiosity got the better of him. “Are you eating Cheerios, of all things? Is that the only cereal your son will allow, since they’re ‘heart healthy’?”

“First of all, my son doesn’t get any say in the matter because I am a grown man who can buy his own food and eat what he damn well pleases. Secondly, I happen to like Cheerios, thank you very much.”

“Well what did you do to them? They smell like peanut butter.”

“That would be because they’re Chocolate Peanut Butter Cheerios. I like to cycle through the different flavors occasionally just for the hell of it.”

Peter felt his entire body perk up in interest. “Oh?,” he asked, injecting as much nonchalance into his tone as he could manage. Judging from the raised eyebrow he got in response, it wasn’t nearly as much as he might have hoped.

“If you want some the box is on top of the fridge. I’m pretty sure there’s enough milk left.”

“No, that’s okay, I wouldn’t want to ‘freeload’ any more of your precious food supply.”

Noah rolled his eyes so hard they practically tugged his glasses back into place. “Uh-huh.” He managed a few more bites, Peter staring at the bowl as if mesmerized, leaning so far forward he was almost off the seat. Eventually, with a deep and long-suffering sigh Noah picked up the half-full bowl and sat it in front of the wolf. When Peter just blinked at him in confusion, he sighed again. “Will you please just try some so I can finish my breakfast in relative peace?”

Glancing down into the bowl, Peter considered the amount of effort necessary to get up and get a new spoon, before finally just shrugging with a mental _‘fuck it’_ , and helping himself to a bite of Cheerios. The fact that it was starting to go a bit soggy did nothing to disguise the delectable taste, and he felt his eyes drift closed in pleasure. A faint rough noise penetrated his haze, and he blinked his eyes open to see Noah staring down at the crossword with an oddly intense concentration. He was twisting his mug distractedly back and forth across the tabletop, and Peter decided the scraping of ceramic against wood must have been what he’d heard.

“So… top of the fridge, you said?”

“Yeah, yeah. And you know where the bowls and spoons are by now.” Noah’s tone was smoothly casual, his gaze never wavering from the paper in front of him. Giving him a hard side-eye, Peter made himself his own bowl of cereal. As he sat back down he shifted Noah’s bowl back across the table towards him. Noah twitched in startlement at the gesture, gaining him a raised eyebrow from his breakfast partner. He shook his head and rubbed at his face, dropping the reading glasses onto the table next to the again discarded newspaper. “Sorry, caffeine’s still kicking in. Here,” he pushed the bowl back Peter’s direction. “Why don’t you go ahead and finish this? I’m going to go grab the reusable bags from the dryer. I realized last night that that blackberry jam had leaked all over the one and on through to a couple of the others, so I tossed the whole lot in the wash.” Before Peter could even try to answer, he’d stood up, drained his mug, set it in the sink and was halfway to the laundry room. Peter just stared at the empty doorway for a moment before shrugging and pulling the second bowl back towards him. When he was done, he rinsed out all the dishes before following the other man’s scent into the living room. Noah was flipping rapidly through the TV listings for the day, glancing over when he heard the wolf enter.

“We do need to leave some time today, Noah, if you want there to be anything left.”

“Ha ha, asshole, you’re the one we’ve been waiting on, if you’ll notice. I was just making sure there wasn’t anything worth recording today since it looks like I’ll be gone most of it.”

Peter just rolled his eyes as he walked past, scooping up the pile of mesh and canvas bags on the way. He headed outside and leaned up against the side of the brand new Jeep Wrangler Rubicon that Noah had somehow conned Stiles into leaving behind for him to use. When the Sheriff finally appeared, he glanced rather forlornly at the Mustang sitting in his driveway and glistening in the light of the early morning sun, before sighing and heading towards his own vehicle. Peter couldn’t help his smirk.

“As always, there is most definitely not room in my car for both our groceries. Not to mention if we find anything… suitable afterwards.”

“Wow, and you give me crap about my sense of humor. And as I’ve pointed out, you _can_ actually put bags in the backseat as well as the trunk.”

“And risk staining the interior? No thank you.”

Noah shook a finger in his direction as he circled around to the driver’s side, unlocking the doors as he went. “One of these days, Peter…”

“Yes, Sheriff Kramden?”

“Good grief, we’re _both_ too young for that reference.”

“Reruns are a thing, you know.”

By then they’d both finished buckling in, and Noah started up the car, throwing out a last “I said what I said” before flicking on the radio to the classic rock station. Peter failed to hide his sigh from the other man. “Oh get over it. They play the least commercials this early in the morning. Just wait until I get to put together a five hour road trip mix for us.” He gave his passenger a serene smirk before shifting his attention to the road.

“Oh dear god, do I even want to imagine what horrors await?” Peter paused for a moment. “Wait, won’t Stiles want to drive the Jeep? He always seemed pretty territorial about that sort of thing.”

“Well, he probably would, except for two very important reasons.” Noah lifted one finger off the steering wheel. “First, they aren’t riding with us because they aren’t going to be coming straight back to Beacon Hills afterwards.” He lifted another finger. “Second, this isn’t Stiles’ car, so he only gets to drive it if I let him.” Points made, he wrapped his hands back around the wheel, while Peter just stared at him in puzzlement.

“Not his? Since when? I thought Derek had bought it for him because he was tired of seeing him pine about Roscoe.”

“Oh, he did. Stiles fought him tooth and nail about it the first few times he offered, until I pointed out that he was going to need some way to get around since I certainly didn’t have an extra car for him to use, and we couldn’t really afford anything roadworthy right then. So he finally agreed and kinda got into playing around with the vehicle builder on the site. I pointed out which upgrades were likely to be most useful, and showed him this darker blue when he decided he couldn’t get another one in light blue. He was actually pretty excited by the time they went to pick it up.”

“Uh-huh. So how exactly did you end up with it, then?”

“Well, he used it for a while, but more times than not he ended up leaving it here while he and Derek traveled around in the Camaro. Then one of Derek’s Christmas gifts was finding someone who’s currently working on fixing Roscoe – apparently some of those parts are hard to find – and I said I’d be happy to use him once he was restored since I hadn’t gotten to drive him in years, and well, Stiles had this nice new model, and I sure as heck couldn’t be doing territory patrols with the pack in a squad car, so. They apparently discussed it for a while, and the next thing I know Stiles is signing it over to me as a very late Christmas present. So now it’s officially mine.” He ran a fond hand along the dash as he finished his story.

Barely throttling down the shock that wanted to break across his face and leak into his voice, Peter finally ventured, “So… what you’re telling me is that you manipulated your son into getting my nephew to buy him a brand new car, and then manipulated both of them into just giving it to you for free? I… am both astonished and impressed.” He was actually a few other things, too, but he certainly wasn’t going to admit to those reactions out loud. “I wouldn’t have thought you had it in you.”

“I’m not sure what you mean, I didn’t manipulate anyone. All I did was try to help out my kid and his well-meaning boyfriend.” Noah’s face was blandly innocent, and about as believable as Monopoly money. “And what can I say? How does that quote go; ‘I contain multitudes’?”

Peter just shook his head, still grinning in disbelief. Looking up, he realized that they’d made it to the Market, which thankfully was less busy than he’d feared. It set up shop weekly in the parking lot of one of the smaller abandoned-warehouse-turned-art-galleries downtown, and tended to become fairly overrun as afternoon approached. They found a surprisingly good parking spot just at the beginning of a side street, and headed towards the stalls, grabbing a handful of bags each. As they hit the first few booths along one side of the square, Peter shifted his focus to more of a general crowd awareness than specifically alert for threats, and realized that Noah may well have had a point about the event as a date setting. Which still seemed mildly bizarre to him, but he supposed it was the inherent domesticity of it all. He’d never been particularly inclined to that sort of thing, himself. Holding open one of his bags for Noah to drop a few heirloom tomatoes and a package of mushrooms into, he just barely suppressed a smirk as the other man spun and attempted to hurry to the next stall without seeming to, and without thinking about it Peter slid his phone into his hand and thumbed open the camera app. By the time he caught up, Noah had already scooped up his adoring fan, the tiny tortie noticeably bigger than she’d been last week, but still small enough to fit almost completely in one of the Sheriff’s hands. She curled around his fingers, still blue eyes determined as she nommed absently at him, squeaking in protest whenever he gently tapped her nose for biting too hard.

When she and her siblings had made their debut two weeks ago, she’d immediately laid her claim, breaking away from mom to come tumbling over to where Noah was debating over the assorted flavors of jam on offer and demanding – very loudly – to be picked up. The stall owner, Anne, had apologized profusely. When she’d taken in one of her sister’s retired breeders, neither had suspected she’d be arriving with a last load of surprises, as it were. Since her sister lived more than three states away, Anne was now attempting to find homes for as many of the kittens as she could, once they were old enough. As soon as she’d realized how enamored the kitten was, she’d launched a slow campaign to convince Noah to eventually take her home. For all of Noah’s arguments about not being home enough to care for a pet, the look on his face made Peter think it was a battle Anne was definitely winning. Peter himself was torn between amusement at watching someone who’d made Alpha werewolves stand down slowly crumble in the face of just under two pounds worth of fluff and whiskers, and mild ongoing surprise at the complete unconcern demonstrated by both kitten and mother cat at the presence of another predator. He glanced over to the box where the mom, Willow, was sprawled in all her massive silvery glory with the less adventurous kittens, tufted ears twitching lazily back and forth with all the idle majesty of a royal wave. She met his gaze, blinked slowly at him, then turned back to watching the antics of her brood with a level of dismissive disinterest he couldn’t help but admire.

Turning back to his companion, he raised his phone and began snapping pictures, reasoning that he’d probably need a new wallpaper or lock screen of his own, after all. And she really was a ridiculously cute kitten. He tuned back in to where Noah was talking softly to her when he distinctly heard his own name.

“...And if your Uncle Peter thinks he’s being subtle, he’s deluding himself.”

“Oh, I’m not trying to be subtle in the slightest. I just thought Stiles might want to see photos of his new little sister.”

Noah sighed, while the kitten snagged her little claws in his collar. “For the last time, Peter, I don’t need a cat.”

“Uh-huh. Which is why she’s practically tucked down your shirt at this point.”

“Why would I want a pet with a tendency to be almost aggressively aloof and independent, bring me dead things in their own sweet if warped attempts to be helpful, and suddenly turn loud and demanding if they’re feeling needy about something? I already have you for that.”

Peter’s attempt to splutter out an objection was cut rather abruptly short when Noah skillfully traded him his bags for the kitten, resulting in both of them letting out noises of protest. Both of them were blissfully ignored.

“Here, hold her while I finish picking a few things out here, since you’re apparently too busy channeling your inner paparazzo.”

Staring down into unimpressed blue eyes, Peter eventually shrugged. “This wasn’t my idea, either.” Turning to glance forlornly after Noah, she finally heaved a far more aggrieved sigh than he would have thought such a tiny thing capable of making, and began to bite sharply at Peter’s knuckle. Raising her up to his chest so he could better support her with both hands, he let out a gentle warning growl, informing her, “That’s not very polite, miss. I don’t mind the chewing, but I’d rather not have to explain the lack of puncture wounds.” When she continued to ignore him, he held her up to his face and quickly flashed his eyes at her. With another heaving sigh and an agitated tail swish, she calmed to the more absent gnawing she’d been gracing Noah with, and he dropped her down to cradle against his chest again. “Thank you, that’s better.” He held one hand up, letting her grab at his finger, occasionally allowing her to pull it within range of her fangs, listening to Noah and Anne discuss things like flavor combos and shelf life. A familiar clicking noise had him spinning around, just in time to see Noah lowering his own phone, expression calm, but eyes glinting with mischief. Reaching over, he lifted the kitten from Peter’s unprotesting hands and cuddled her close to his own chest. She mewled happily, wriggling in his hand and nuzzling against the underside of his chin.

“If you’re done flirting, Anne would probably appreciate us giving her back to her mom and freeing up space for other customers.”

Anne grinned at them, leaning her petite frame against the jar covered table, graying hair dancing in the light breeze and dark eyes sparkling. “Oh please, don’t worry about me. You two are the best entertainment I’ve had all morning.”

Rolling his eyes and snatching back the half full bags, Peter began walking towards the next stall, calling snarkily back over his shoulder. “Please. She’s rather a bit young for my tastes, thanks.” He determinedly ignored the raised eyebrows and knowing edge creeping into Anne’s smile, turning to peruse the wares on offer, which appeared to be ...decorative soaps? Really? Focused on getting in the last word, he’d forgotten that they usually skipped this vendor. Determined to maintain a certain dignity, he pretended a casual interest while he listened for the approach of Noah’s familiar footsteps and heartbeat. The other man stepped up next to him, glancing over his shoulder and resting a warm hand between his shoulder blades. Peter’s instinctive twitch was mostly hidden by Noah’s body, thankfully, and he just let his hand rest there, not moving or speaking until he felt the wolf start to relax again.

“You know, this reminds me, we’re going to need to pick up a gift at some point, too.” His voice was a soft rumble in Peter’s ear, thumb starting to rub gentle arcs next to his spine. Peter felt himself ricocheting between wanting to lean further into the touch, and wanting to make a run for the car. Or possibly his apartment. He settled for his usual default of sarcastic disdain.

“The fact that seeing a pile of overly perfumed, overly waxy soaps in tritely ‘romantic’ shapes is what reminded you makes me even more glad that I already told Derek to have Stiles show him the registry and select a few items for both of us.”

“I never said they were anything I’d want to give. They just struck me as the kind of crap Ruth would think appropriate.”

“Should we get her a selection of the rose shapes with the matching hand lotion so strong I can smell it through the bottle as a ‘hostess gift’ to really confuse her?”

“You know, that might actually be worth it just for the look on her face.” Noah slid his hand up to Peter’s shoulder and gave it a friendly squeeze. “Sometimes, I really do like the way you think.”

Peter turned to smirk at him, only to find himself startled anew as he fully registered just _how close_ Noah was actually standing to him. Those blue-gray eyes were just inches away, and seemed just as startled at their unexpected proximity. He felt that strange fizzly feeling pressing against the inside of his ribs again, as something like determination flickered over Noah’s face.

“Can I help you gentleman with anything today?” The voice was as cloyingly sweet as the products up for sale, and served to break the odd tension that had fallen, both men jerking to face the woman standing behind the booth. Her strategically torn skinny jeans and low-cut #Blessed t-shirt revealed quite a bit of artificially tanned skin in defiance of the chilly morning temperatures, and her fake lashes were so long they could almost create their own winds if she blinked. Peter would have bet even money that there was a monogrammed Tervis tumbler hidden somewhere under the table. He flashed the most charming smile he could manage.

“No thank you, we’re just looking right now.” She nodded vaguely in acknowledgment, shadowed eyes roving with a steady interest over a completely oblivious Noah, who had gone back to trying to figure out what some of the other shapes on display were. His smile fighting to become more of a grimace, Peter began urging them forward, skipping past the face-painting booth on the corner to reach the one that sold some of the best cheeses he’d been able to find locally. The siblings that ran it both looked on the verge of laughter. He stoutly ignored them, focusing on clearing the lingering stench of explosively floral soap from his sinuses and lungs. As they continued making their way around the square, he gave the Sheriff his own curious once over, noting that he seemed to have dressed in direct defiance of Peter’s previous complaints. While still nowhere near as tight as Peter himself wore them, his jeans were still more snug than usual, as was the charcoal and red striped long-sleeve tee, layered over a lighter gray thermal shirt in deference to the weather. It actually looked… really rather good on him, and Peter couldn’t help but notice that he wasn’t the only one to realize it. Noah himself, however, displayed the same utter obliviousness to such things that Peter had witnessed in his son. _God, they were both hopeless._

By the time they’d finished their circuit and were loading up the Jeep, Peter was feeling twitchy and irritable. He blamed it on the bakery being out of his favorite pastries, and the fact that the wine sellers hadn’t made it this week due to transportation issues. Noah just raised an eyebrow at him where he was slouched against the door, nursing at the cup of surprisingly excellent coffee he’d picked up near the exit.

“Should I roll the window down so you can hang your head out and see if the breeze can cheer you up?”

“Really? Dog jokes? Those aren’t any funnier when your son makes them, either, and he can at least manage a far more energetic delivery.”

Noah shrugged, ignoring the sharpness of his tone and reaching into the backseat to rifle through one of the bags. “Suit yourself. I just thought it might help blow that pout off your face.”

“Excuse me? I do not ‘pout’. I’m merely annoyed at the lack of baked goods I’m experiencing because you weren’t ready to go this morning. As usual.”

Noah stiffened for a moment before drawing back from his search and tossing a small waxed paper bag into Peter’s lap. As the wolf gingerly picked up the bag and unfolded the top, Noah turned to stare firmly out the windshield, starting up the Jeep and pulling carefully out into the street. Staring down at the pair of raspberry _pain au chocolat_ , Peter struggled process what he was seeing. Noah informed him, “Dinis found those hidden in a box with some bagels. You’d already gone on by then.” His tone was as rigidly neutral as his expression, eyes never straying from the road, the acrid hint of irritation coloring his scent again.

“...oh.” Yet again Peter was caught up in a rather muddled mix of the somewhat foreign feeling of wanting to apologize and the profound confusion of just where that urge was coming from. After a few moments of silence that seemed to somehow echo in the confined interior, he straightened up and offered the breeziest, “Thank you,” he could manage. Pulling one of the pastries out of the bag he took a large bite, the better to keep from having to say anything since he couldn’t seem to trust his own mouth right then. It was just as delicious as he knew it would be. Dinis and his wife sourced their ingredients from as many of the other vendors as they could, and their offerings were generally almost beyond compare. He devoured the first one far more quickly than he’d intended, and debated over the second for a bit as they turned onto Noah’s street and neared his house.

As Noah parked (with the utmost care, he couldn’t help but notice) next to Peter’s car, Peter gently tore the _pain_ in half, waiting until the other man finally turned towards him to hold a piece out to him. Noah just stared at the baked good in his hand, utterly nonplussed. “A couple of bites certainly shouldn’t cause a problem later, and might help take the edge off.”

Noah’s gaze flickered up to meet his own, expression still faintly puzzled, before he reached out and gingerly took the chunk of pastry from him. The smile that twitched up one side of his mouth was both amused and resigned. “Thank you, Peter.” Peter was able to avoid responding by finishing off his coffee and slipping out of the Jeep to start unloading groceries. It wasn’t that he was running away or anything. They were on a bit of a time crunch, after all. Yes, that was most certainly the only reason, and he refused to contemplate otherwise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the somewhat abrupt cut-off there. If I'd left it as is this chapter would have been more than double the length of most of the surrounding chapters (which I doubt you guys would have minded, but I'm trying to keep things somewhat even. For now at least.)  
> Also, I'm not saying that some of the vendors have a running bet on when these two are gonna get their shit together, but I'm not saying they don't, either. ;D And for those who are curious, the cats are Maine Coons, because I, too, would love to have one someday.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's time for another visit with Fashion Consultant Peter, with a surprise appearance by Oh No He's Hot, as I attempt to tackle one of the classic tropes of romcom tradition. ;D
> 
> Also, I wanted to offer warning in advance that this is likely to be the only chapter this week due to holiday obligations and general work craziness. Hopefully this one is cute enough to make up for it?

They got everything carried in and put away with the ease of long practice, settling down afterwards to discuss meal ideas over another cup of coffee (Peter had developed a special joy for coming up with more and more ludicrous “healthy alternatives” to suggest just to see how many ways Noah’s face could convey horrified disgust. There were really quite a few.) It was with some surprise that Peter glanced at his watch to see that they needed to leave soon to make their appointment. He garnered himself yet another variant expression for his mental collection when he mentioned this to the other man.

Herding Noah reluctantly back out to his car, he finally managed to get them back on the road and heading in the correct direction. He directed them to one of the small shopping centers that clustered along the edges of one of Beacon Hill’s ritzier neighborhoods. The shop they were headed for was actually technically two shops, run by a pair of brothers, one of whom did full bespoke tailoring, the other running a spacious mid-to-high end clothing boutique with extensive alteration services. Peter had found both men to be exceedingly capable and exceptionally talented.

Noah had raised an eyebrow when he noticed the area they were near, but made no other comment, turning wherever he was told and pulling into a parking spot conveniently in front of their destination. The expression on his face as they headed inside was oddly hesitant, a curious mix of general aversion and vague nervousness that he wasn’t used to seeing on the Sheriff. Peter wanted rather badly to comment on it, but was mildly concerned he’d end up putting his foot in his mouth again (which was a weird and distracting sensation all on its own.) He was glancing around in search of an associate when Noah finally spoke up.

“This looks like the kind of place I’d spend most of my time trying to get back out of while warning Stiles to be still and not touch anything because we wouldn’t be able to afford to replace it when he broke it.”

“Oh come now, it’s not _that_ bad. Although I do doubt they see too many highly energetic kids running around.”

“Who said anything about kids? I meant if I was here with Stiles now.”

An unexpected laugh burst from Peter, bright and sharp, as he imagined that scenario. He knew that his nephew would immediately offer to pay for anything so that Stiles wouldn’t have to worry, in that earnest way he had that was somehow completely teasing and completely serious at the same time.

“Well,” came a new voice. “That’s not a sound I’ve heard out of _you_ in quite a while, Mr. Hale.”

Turning smoothly towards the approaching man, Peter marveled again at how he managed to sneak up on a werewolf. He’d never quite figured out what Nathan and his brother actually were, and there’d been far too many larger, more pressing distractions the last couple of years since he’d awoken. They seemed to keep themselves to themselves, and didn’t appear to be adding to the county’s extensive body count, so he hadn’t overly concerned himself with it. Carefully combed silvering hair topped a round, friendly face, smile polite and professional as he held out a hand first to Peter, then to Noah.

“Really? I seem to manage it a lot, though I’m not sure if that’s a reflection of skill or the complete opposite on my part.”

“Oh come now, Mr. Stilinski, don’t sell yourself short. Anyone who can keep Mr. Hale on his toes has more than a bit of skill.”

“Oh God, please just call me Noah, I feel awkward enough in here as it is. And it seems like you have the better of me, Mr...?”

Peter stepped in to do the introductions. “Noah, this is Nathaniel Miller, who runs this fine establishment with his brother Daniel. Nathan, you obviously already know our esteemed Sheriff, by reputation at least. He’s the one rather desperately in need of your assistance today.”

“Hmmph. Pretty sure you’re the one that needs it since you’re the one that insisted we come here.”

Sighing heavily as he rolled his eyes, Peter addressed Nathan’s increasingly amused smile. “If you had seen the travesties I found in his closet, you would have insisted, too. I have, against my better judgment, agreed to accompany him to a family wedding, mainly for the purposes of defending my nephew’s honor and spiting obnoxious relatives. If I’m expected to grace this event with my presence, he’s going to need a properly fitted suit made some time this century. Which is where you come in.”

“Wow. There’s so much wrong with every part of that statement that I don’t even know where to begin.” Noah sighed and shook his head. “I suppose we might as well get this show on the road before he starts getting dramatic or something.”

Nathan’s smile had become a full blown grin by this point, and he gestured them over to the racks of suits on offer. “We certainly wouldn’t want that, would we? By all means let’s see if we can find a few options for you to try. Is there anything specific you’re looking for? Two-piece? Three-piece? Is the wedding indoors or out? Morning, evening, in-between?”

Deliberately wandering over to different display, Peter cackled internally as he listened to Noah stumbling his way through answering as many of the questions as he could. He had already gone over most of the same info with the tailor when he’d made the appointment, the majority of his answers far more in depth than anything Noah could provide, but it appeared Nathan wanted to get a feel for both their opinions on the subject. Either that or he was just amusing himself. Peter could feel Noah’s increasingly desperate stare against the side of his head, but kept his gaze on the stacks of shirts he was methodically sifting through. Was he being somewhat petty? Probably. Was he enjoying himself immensely? Definitely. After several minutes of discussion during which Nathan kept adding more and more hangers to his arm and Noah kept looking more and more despondent, they finally headed over to the fitting rooms. A furious whisper obviously meant only for the wolf’s enhanced hearing drifted across the sales floor.

“Hale, get your furry ass over here and help me with this!”

Nobly refraining from making any commentary about the purported pilosity of his posterior, he turned and sauntered his way towards where the Sheriff had disappeared into one of the cubicles with his assorted selections. He dropped gracefully into one of the available chairs and pulled out his phone, waiting to see how this was going to go. In a surprisingly short amount of time (Nathan had barely gotten his silent laughter under control), the door swung open and Noah stepped out … in a brown suit. A deep walnut mohair suit, paired elegantly with a textured khaki tie and crisp white shirt, it admittedly looked far, far better than anything he already had, but still. It was the principal of the thing.

“Very nice. Very _Quantum of Solace._ However, we’ve talked about the brown. And while admittedly no slouch, you are sadly no James Bond.”

Eyes catching Peter’s in the three-way mirror, Noah’s expression was was as bland as his tone. “I’m well aware of that, thanks. For one thing, I’m too tall.”

Peter felt his own gaze narrow as he tried to decide if that was a dig or not, before ultimately deciding to ignore it. “Well, at least this one fits you properly. What’s say for the next one we try adding some color somewhere?”

Noah’s mouth opened and closed a couple of times as though he were considering and rejecting various responses, before he finally sighed out a, “Fine,” and headed back into the dressing room.

While they waited to see what he came out with next, Nathan glanced over at Peter, lips still twitching sporadically with amusement. “I did try to dissuade him, but he insisted on trying at least one.”

“That does not shock me in the slightest.”

“I did try to select something with a sleeker, more modern fit, per your request.”

“Well you succeeded there, although I am surprised that he seemed to know most of his measurements when you asked. His everyday wardrobe would suggest otherwise.”

The faint creak of the door opening punctuated this last comment. “I do have to get new uniforms occasionally, Peter.”

The next suit on offer was a heavy dark charcoal wool only a shade or two off black, paired with a mallard green shirt and matching tie. The fit was slightly slimmer than the previous, and highlighted his athletic frame remarkably well. Peter stepped up behind him at the mirror to get a better view of the overall effect.

“The color of that shirt looks like it came out of a 90s arcade carpet, and I frankly hate that you can pull it off this well. If it weren’t for the fact that I’d need to figure out something that wouldn’t clash horribly with it, I’d be tempted to let you wear it. Also, if you’re going to match the tie, at least pick one with some sort of texture or pattern to it to break things up a bit. We’re trying to update your look not regress it further.”

Noah’s eyebrows were climbing determinedly towards his hairline. “Are you done?”

“As a matter of fact, no. While I would recommend you make a note of the brand and material of this suit for the next time election season comes around, the shade and fabric might be just a bit too somber for this occasion. Perhaps something in a medium gray or navy? And if you have any three piece options in there let me see how one of those looks.”

Casting his eyes heavenward in an obvious plea for patience, Noah again headed for his fitting room. “You know, I said that you could have more input on what I wore, not that you could treat me like your personal dress-up doll.”

“Please, you should be glad that all I care about is your suit. I’ve made a certain, resigned peace with whatever else you’re going to wear next weekend, which mostly involves just not thinking about it.”

Noah narrowed his eyes at him in a considering stare for a moment, but ultimately closed the door without further comment. Peter stepped over to engage in some vague small talk with Nathan while staunchly ignoring the irritated mutters he could hear perfectly clearly over the rustle of fabric. Finally the door was all but flung open to allow Noah to not quite stomp his way over to the mirrors. This suit was again made of a medium-weight worsted wool, this time the requested three piece in a soft navy, paired with a light blue shirt and wine colored tie. The fit was more traditional than the first two, but still managed to avoid being baggy. Peter again stepped up behind him, absently running his hands over his shoulders to adjust how the jacket sat.

“Closer to what I had in mind, at least. The color’s good, though maybe something in a mohair, or wool/silk blend? It would give it just a touch more elegance. The pant legs could be a touch tighter, so you can show off your height,” he added with a touch of snark. Sliding the jacket off, he handed it to Nathan and continued his assessment. “Definite yes on a waistcoat, though. It brings attention up to those broad shoulders, and will look better once you inevitably remove your jacket at the reception.” He twisted one hand in the back of the waistcoat to tighten it, the other continuing to fiddle with Noah’s shirt collar and brush across his shoulders. “Just watch the fit, please. I know you have some sort of pathological aversion to anyone realizing you’re in much better shape than you let on, but can we at least try to limit that here?”

From behind him, Nathan interjected, “I’m fairly certain I know exactly which of the suits still in there will fit your recommendations best. If I may? Sheriff?” He opened the door to the cubicle and gestured inside, jacket still draped over his arm. His smile was still more amused than polite, which confused Peter for a moment, until he realized that he was still running his hands all over the other man, and swiftly stepped back. Noah blinked rapidly for a moment, before turning and following Nathan into the room.

Peter returned to his chair and his most recent level of Candy Crush as the low murmur of voices and occasional rustle of expensive fabric went on for, really quite a while. With a swiftness that couldn’t possibly be natural, Nathan slipped back out and grabbed something off of a table behind them, disappearing back inside before the wolf had a chance to see what it was. More rustling and murmurs, and then his phone pinged with an incoming text. It was from Noah.

_‘_ _So I think we’ve found the best mix of your demands and my need for comfort. Nathan wholeheartedly agrees. And since he’s the one whose advice we were_ _actually_ _seeking, and since_ _you keep being obnoxious about my clothes, you’ll just have to wait to see it.’_

Peter jerked upright, ready to start complaining indignantly through the still closed door, when his phone lit up again.

_‘_ _Nathan has graciously agreed to be a go-between and can let you know if whatever you pick will go well with mine. I think it’s entertaining the shit out of him, actually.’_

Sinking back into his seat as one of his main complaints was cut off at the knees, Peter felt himself stewing in frustration (and very assuredly NOT pouting), when yet another text came through.

_‘_ _Since it seems to bother you so much, and I’m feeling oddly generous, I’ll let you pick ONE shirt for me to try on, so I can prove to you that a more snug fit is frankly ridiculous on me. (Try not to go too overboard.)’_

Peter’s mind immediately began to spin through possibilities, and he sent back a grudging _‘...Very well’_ in reply, before springing up to head into the main part of the store where the more casual clothes were hung. He thought he saw Nathan flicker past a few times from the corner of his eye, but the other man said nothing and didn’t actively approach him, so he paid him little mind beyond noting his location. Eventually he settled on an almost unfairly soft t-shirt in a rich pine green. The cut was sleek without being snug, and while the neck was vee’d, it wasn’t any deeper than the majority of the henley’s he’d ever seen the other man wear, certainly shallower than most anything Peter himself ever tended to wear. Decision made, he headed back to the fitting area and tossed it over the door, calling out a flippant “Here” as his only warning. He heard the sound of the shirt being shaken out, and then the sharp, sparkling scent of amusement came wafting out from behind the veneered wood. No comment was made however, and Peter sank back into his chosen seat, propping his elbow on the arm and his chin in his hand in a show of indifference. This turned out to be a wise decision on his part, because it kept him from having to pick his jaw up off the floor once Noah finally emerged.

Those … were _definitely not_ the jeans that he’d worn to the store. The rinse was far darker, and while they wouldn’t be considered skinny jeans by any means, they were far tighter than his usual straight cut, the fabric wrapping snugly around the toned muscles of his calves and thighs in a way that bordered on indecent (to Peter’s mind, at least.) He forced his gaze up to see that he’d been entirely correct in his shirt choice, the cotton skimming along the lines of his torso without actually clinging to anything, the vee of the collar revealing just the faintest edges of his collarbone and the barest hint of chest hair. The sleeves hugged his biceps in a way that was _absolutely_ obscene, shifting with every flex and bulge as he pulled on a … holy _fuck_ where had that jacket come from? It was a (perfectly fitting) traditional biker style jacket, but instead of black leather it was made of a deep coffee brown suede that looked so soft it was taking everything Peter had not to reach out and _touch_ (he wanted to touch a lot more than the jacket, but he wasn’t letting himself think about that right now.) Thankfully, Noah seemed to misinterpret his continued silence.

“See, I told you this sort of thing looks ridiculous on someone my age.”

Peter was going to argue that point with him, again, he absolutely was, but then Noah turned away to look awkwardly in the mirror and wow, was that a distracting view. Those jeans really were so much tighter than he knew what to do with, and that jacket was the perfect length. The wolf shifted as subtly as possible, crossing his legs and willing moisture back into his suddenly dry mouth as several VERY unexpected reactions inundated his system. At his continued silence, Noah spun back around to face him.

“Peter?…” His tone was mildly inquiring, but his scent held swirling overtones of uncertainty and concern as he took a couple steps closer to him.

Opening his mouth to make (what he hoped was) a snarky brush off, Peter suddenly realized that he could now also see Noah’s reflection in one side of the three-way mirror, giving him both front and rear views at once, and he just barely choked back a strangled whimper. Forcing himself to close his eyes for a moment (as though the image wasn’t now burned into his retinas), Peter took a deep breath and gave himself a ruthless internal shake. Like hell he’d let something as mundane as a sudden(-ly acknowledged) attraction rattle him like this. Releasing the breath, he blinked mildly at the other man.

“Hm, sorry? I was just debating if I should have gotten the shirt in a different color. I think that one works rather well though. The whole outfit does, really, I don’t know why you want to insist it doesn’t. Honestly, the only thing that might be considered ridiculous is how amazing that jacket looks. You should at least get that if nothing else.”

The green of the shirt was contrasting adorably with the blush that was trying to spring up along Noah’s cheekbones and brightening the tips of his ears. The Sheriff seemed determined to ignore it however. “Peter, I am not buying a,” he glanced down at the tag hanging off the sleeve and looked momentarily winded, “a _FIVE HUNDRED DOLLAR_ jacket, Jesus.”

“I could buy it for you, it is something of an unofficial Hale pack tradition after all, and you’ve certainly spent enough time helping us to qualify. And, really, it might actually be a crime not to get it.”

Noah’s tone was gently reproving, even as his scent fizzed lightly with pleasure. “No, Peter. You’re already spending more than I’m comfortable with on this suit, I’m not letting you add more to it. But thank you for the offer.” He slipped back into the dressing room to change back into his normal clothes, leaving Peter to alternately be irritated with himself for not snapping a picture, and trying to decide if it would be better to just hold onto the jacket for the nearly five months until Noah’s birthday, or if he could somehow sneak it into his closet at some point without him noticing.

He wandered over to where Nathan was entering information into the computer attached to the registers and had a quiet word. The man nodded and clicked to a different screen to make a note, clicking back just as Noah joined them, clad once again in his layered shirts and straight leg denim. Peter momentarily mourned the loss even as he rejoiced at the return to something akin to normalcy (if he kept occasionally staring at the way the sleeves clung to the lines of his arms that was no one’s business but his own.) He tuned back in to hear them finalizing a time for Noah to come back and pick the suit up.

“And you’re sure you’ll have enough time to finish?” Peter knew they were cutting it rather close. It was one of the reasons he’d gone for off-the-rack.

“Oh, certainly, you needn’t worry about that, Mr. Hale. It only needs a bit of adjusting, really.”

Peter handed over his credit card without even waiting to be asked (the better to keep Noah from hearing the full total and freaking out even worse.) They both thanked Nathan for his assistance and were happily invited back. As they finally departed and slid back into the comfort of the Jeep, Peter looked over at his shopping partner.

“So was it as terrible as you feared?” His voice was teasing, smirk firmly back in Smug Asshole mode.

“Well, I can’t say it’s my idea of a good time in any way, but I suppose it was less horrific than expected. You definitely owe me fast food now, though.”

Peter laughed brightly as Noah bee-lined for the nearest In-N-Out. “Very well. And since you were such a good sport about it, I won’t even tell Stiles about this.”

“How generous of you.”

“I have my moments.”

Noah’s eyes briefly met his, a warmth in them that matched with the scent of calm contentedness flowing around him. “That you do.”

The expression doing its utmost to crawl across Peter’s face was very definitely closer to a smile than a smirk, but he decided that, maybe just this once, that was okay. He even ordered a meal to take home for himself, reasoning that it had been a long day after all, and he rather felt he’d earned a bit of a splurge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those curious about the James Bond thing, basically the joke is that Daniel Craig, who played Bond in Quantum of Solace (which featured the suit used as visual reference here) is 5'10", the same height as Ian Bohen, who plays Peter. Linden Ashby, who plays Noah, is just shy of 6'. So yes, he is being a little bit of a shit. (I realize this is a rather niche joke, but since I've done time in both fandoms, I'm leaving it as a personal homage. XD )
> 
> Also, yes, the coloring of the second suit is indeed another deliberate MK reference. Can't stop, won't stop. (The comment about the cost of the jacket was apparently a completely unconscious one that I didn't notice until re-reading to edit, and then I just had to leave it.) And yes, biker jackets do indeed come in dark brown suede, and they are gorgeous, and Noah absolutely needs one for his official Pack jacket. XD


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we're back! I hope everyone had a wonderful holiday that had any to celebrate, and if not I hope things have been peaceful for you anyway. :D
> 
> Just a head's up that I'll probably be keeping to posting just once a week for now, I've almost caught up to what I already had written, so it'll take me a little longer to get stuff typed up and edited going forward.
> 
> On the plus side, they do finally at least hit the road by the end of this chapter? After several more cute (I hope) scenes of being painfully oblivious and absolutely not flirting in the slightest. ;D (And eating. Seriously, why do I have so much eating in this?) Anyway. Enjoy!

By the time Wednesday morning dawned, Peter had managed to make peace with the his rather unanticipated reactions from the weekend. It wasn’t even that he hadn’t realized that Noah was attractive, it was just that frankly almost everyone in their mutual circle was obnoxiously good-looking, and the other man really was very good at seeming unassuming. But all things considered, suddenly being reminded how much of a front that was shouldn’t have come as such a shock. He chalked it up to lingering exhaustion and perhaps some faint nerves about the coming trip, and dismissed it from his thoughts.

Wandering into the diner to meet Noah for a last planning lunch, he felt a faint frisson when caught sight of him waiting at a booth near the back, but nothing more intense than normal (so he’d always had a bit of a thing about the uniform. Sue him.) He sent the waitress a charming smile as he sauntered past the jukebox, sliding onto the bench opposite the Sheriff. Noah glanced up as he sat, somehow unsurprised by his appearance, despite not seeing him arrive. He’d left him the seat in the far corner, which Peter appreciated. He’d never been a particular fan of sitting with his back to a room full of strangers. The waitress barely allowed Peter the time to get comfortably settled before appearing at the end of the table to take their orders. Peter couldn’t help the smirk that sprang up when Noah ordered just as unhealthy an option as he would have expected (not that there were any particularly healthy choices to begin with. It was a diner, after all), but made no actual comment. The extremely skeptical side-eye the other man sent him told him it had been heard all the same.

“Okay, and will you be needing anything else today?” The line of jeweled studs outlining each ear sparkled beneath the humming fluorescents as she glanced back and forth between them.

“No thanks, Darlene. That’ll be all for us.”

Peter felt his instinctive need to be an obnoxious little shit kicking in as she smiled and walked back to the front counter. “ _Darlene_ , hmm? Should I be worried about being swapped out for a newer model?” The eye roll he got in response very probably could have been seen from space.

“I’m gonna go with no, for several reasons. First off, she’s only a couple of years older than my kid. Secondly, she’s not into guys. And thirdly, and debatably most importantly, _we aren’t actually dating_. So I think you’re pretty safe on that front.”

“And here I thought you might just tell me I’m irreplaceable.”

“I’m pretty sure as your fake boyfriend it’s my job to keep you firmly grounded, not pander to your already sizable ego.”

“Well, someone’s in a mood.”

“If I have to listen to Old Man Williams call in to complain one more time that the family living next door are using the prisms hanging in their windows to hex his azaleas, I may have to learn how to cast a silencing spell myself, presuming such a thing even exists.”

Barely suppressing his delight, the wolf couldn’t help but seek more information. “And is there any particular reason he thinks they would do such a thing?”

“Because he’s a bigoted and ornery old coot who’s too busy jumping at shadows to notice it’s because they’ve trained their golden retriever to pee on them.”

Losing his battle against merriment, Peter felt his shoulders shaking lightly with his snickers. He was still trying to calm them enough to continue the conversation when the waitress ( _Darlene_ , his mind corrected with another snicker) returned with their meals. Letting himself enjoy a few bites of his admittedly delicious club sandwich, he finally looked back up at his dining companion.

“So, what was it we needed to go over that couldn’t be sent by text?”

“Well, I mean it probably could have, I just didn’t feel like typing that much. I mainly wanted to go over the plans for Friday, and what all to expect.”

“Based off my experiences with your son, and you yourself, really, I find that if I expect the unexpected, I’ll generally get by fine.”

“Okay, not untrue, but that doesn’t mean I can’t at least try and make things easier.”

Peter huffed a soft, amused sigh. “Alright. What all do I need to know?”

“We’ll be going to Cottage Grove, Oregon, which is about a five hour drive from here, depending on traffic, so we should probably try to get a decently early start. Because I can assure you that no matter how late we get there, there will be food and we will have to eat it, so I’d prefer before dinner time if possible.” Noah paused to eat a few fries, along with a bite of his Monte Cristo sandwich. Peter tried to ignore the way the scent of homemade raspberry jam and fried bread was making his nose twitch. He’d always thought the sandwich had sounded faintly ridiculous on paper, but he had to admit it smelled amazing in person. Before Noah could pick up where he’d left off, Peter’s curiosity finally got the best of him.

“So is that actually any good, or just something you eat because you’re taking your anger out on your cardiovascular system?”

“I mostly just ordered it because I was curious myself, but I have to admit it’s surprisingly good.”

“Hmm… perhaps I’ll have to give it a try sometime.” Peter took a distracted sip of his soda, eyes unconsciously shifting back and forth between the Sheriff’s face and his plate. After a moment, he sat up and started to ask about their accommodations, but got no further than a single, “So…” before Noah sighed resignedly and put one of the untouched quarters of his sandwich on Peter’s plate, snagging a handful of the wolf’s onion rings in exchange. Peter debated internally for a moment before ultimately deciding to just stay silent, picking up the section of sandwich and taking a bite. It was annoyingly good, as he probably should have expected from something so terrible for you. After savoring a few of his ill-gotten rings, Noah again took up the thread of conversation.

“You might as well get used to eating like this for a few days anyway. Lena considers visits from family an excuse to cook all the horrifically unhealthy things she doesn’t allow herself normally. Brace yourself for lots of rich sauces and cheesecake. So very much cheesecake.”

“A particular favorite, I take it?”

“You have no idea. Any and all kinds. And while I know it’s probably futile to suggest, you’ll want to bring layers. It’s averaging in the 30s overnight up there, and she keeps the heat set at about 60, at best, most of the time. I know wolves tend to run hotter, but there are limits I’m sure.”

“And here I thought most older ladies tended to always be a bit chilled. Admittedly my experience is somewhat limited on the subject, however.”

A smile flickered across Noah’s face. “Well, I think you’ll find Lena is not like most older ladies anyway. She tends to subscribe to your philosophy of age just being a random number. Which reminds me, don’t refer to her as my great-aunt anywhere within her hearing. Apparently it ‘makes her feel old’, which given that she’s only a few years older than my father, is somewhat understandable.”

“I’ll be sure to keep that in mind. Is there anyone else I need to worry about?”

“Not really? No one I would have likely mentioned much if this situation were real, at least not in any detail. I don’t talk to my family much any more.”

It was said firmly, but dismissively, as if it were of no import. But Peter could tell from the look in the other man’s eyes, and how hard he was projecting an air of casual neutrality, that it was anything but. He was now exceedingly curious, but even he could tell that asking was not an option at this particular time, so he just nodded. Hoping to skip them past the potentially awkward moment, he fell back on his usual standby of snark.

“So should I go ahead and order us dessert so we can add this to our made up dating adventures?”

“Well, it had occurred to me to make you pay for lunch, but I wasn’t going to bring it up unless you did.”

“And here I thought you might treat me this time. This is feeling rather one-sided, all things considered. I’m not just a sugar daddy, you know, I deserve some attention and appreciation, too.” Peter made a valiant effort to school his features into disapproval, but they somehow refused to fully co-operate.

Those blue-gray eyes were dancing with mirth as Noah swallowed his most recent bite and assumed a falsely contrite expression. “Oh, how neglectful of me. Here, allow me to start making up for it.” So saying, he got up and went to the front counter, chatting with another of the waitresses briefly. After a couple of minutes he turned and headed back towards the booth with an extremely large glass of what appeared to be... an Oreo milkshake, maybe? He made a quick stop at the jukebox as he passed, sitting down the massive whipped cream and sprinkle-laden concoction just as the sound of the record clicking over reached Peter’s ears. He tossed down a pair of thick straws and long-stemmed spoons with a raised eyebrow, legs tangling lightly with Peter’s as he retook his seat. “Do you feel a bit more properly wooed, now?”

Peter’s attempt at forming a response quickly fell victim to his realization that the song Noah had cued up was Herman’s Hermits’ _Can’t You Hear My Heart Beat?_ The laughter that burst from the wolf probably startled them both, but he couldn’t seem to make himself stop. This ridiculous man. Picking up one of the spoons as he willfully tried to suppress his snickers, Peter tried some of the shake, sending Noah an entirely false glare as he scooped up a bite of his own.

“Don’t even think about it, Hale. We’re sharing this whether you like it or not. How do the kids phrase it? It’s for the aesthetic?”

That set Peter off again, sounds suspiciously close to giggles mingling with the chipper vocals still echoing through the room. Noah just gave him an oddly pleased look, and snagged himself some more of their dessert.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Thursday night found Peter on the phone with Stiles until nearly midnight, trying to help him determine if the creature he and Derek were investigating sightings of was more likely to be a pooka or a kelpie. It might have helped if they had more to go on than stories of a “creepy black horse thing” from groups of local teens getting drunk out in the woods, but unfortunately there was little further incoming info at present.

“From the sounds of things it’s hopefully just a pooka amusing themselves. There haven’t been any disappearances of any kind?”

“Nothing that anyone’s mentioned yet, at least.”

“Then it’s probably fine. As long as no one’s finding piles of entrails anywhere I wouldn’t be too concerned. We can keep an eye on the area in case anything changes, but I don’t think it’s a problem we particularly need to concern ourselves with right now.”

“Thanks for that cheerful image.” Stiles’ tone was dry as library dust. “But that was pretty much what I was thinking, too, so. I’ve had my fill of demonic horses for a good long while, thanks.”

“Haven’t we all?”

“So, speaking of situations I’d rather avoid, what time are you guys heading up tomorrow?”

“Well, your father says he wants to get there early, so we’ll probably be leaving sometime in the morning.”

“Yeah… about that. Just to give you a head’s up, a call came over the radio for a multi-car pile-up over near Rte 36 about an hour ago. If he was still on shift and went to help, he isn’t gonna get home until stupidly late. I advise not showing up until mid-morning at least, and bring lots of coffee with you.”

Peter felt a smile tugging at his lips even though he knew the teen couldn’t see it. “Why am I not surprised in the least that you’re monitoring the police band despite being nowhere nearby?”

“Because much to my dismay you actually know me fairly well by this point?”

“I’m hurt at the implied disparagement of our relationship, Stiles.”

“My dad’s the one that has to pretend to like you, not me.”

“You wound me, future nephew-in-law.”

“I will if you call me that anywhere Derek might hear you, especially this weekend.”

“Worried he’ll start getting ideas? Don’t you want him to eventually make an honest man out of you?”

“You know, I would ask ‘why are you the way that you are’, but you might actually try to answer, and honestly I don’t think I could fake interest for the days that would take.”

He could feel the smile threatening to turn into a full on grin. He always did enjoy talking to Stiles. Really, both Stilinskis had turned out to be far more entertaining and intriguing than he might ever have originally guessed. It was helping to keep him at least mildly curious for the upcoming charade he’d somehow found himself involved in.

“Well, while it’s always a pleasure to chat with you, if I’m to face your father’s sleep deprived wrath tomorrow, I should probably make sure to get plenty of rest myself first.”

“Glad at least one of us can enjoy these calls. We’ll see you guys when you get there. I’m gonna want a front row seat for this trainwreck.”

“Good _night_ , Stiles.”

“Bye, Zombiewolf!”

Peter rolled his eyes as the call disconnected. (That was certainly a joke that never got old.) Checking over his bags one last time before getting ready for bed, he set his alarm for an early enough time to make it to the really good coffee shop, located right where the more ‘artsy’ neighborhood met the edges of the community college’s campus, before all the best baked goods would be gone. Arriving with an offering of food and caffeine would likely be in his best interests for a peaceful road trip, after all.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Peter sat in his car for a few minutes, staring up at the still dark Stilinski residence, wondering if he should try knocking or texting first this morning, rather than just strolling right in like he normally would. He was not particularly anxious to end up with a gun in his face this early in the day. After confirming that the heartbeat he could hear was located in the kitchen, he decided that the risk was minimal enough, after all. When he reached the kitchen, he found Noah leaning against the counter by the coffee maker, still dressed in flannel pajama pants and what might have been yesterday’s undershirt. He was squinting blearily through his reading glasses at the front page of the paper, hair still a ruffled mess, as he waited with barely suppressed impatience for the machine to produce its obviously much needed brew. Ruthlessly squelching each and every comment that rose to his lips, Peter wordlessly held out one of the two large to-go cups he’d brought with him.

“Man, am I glad to see you.”

“I must say that’s not often a sentiment I hear.”

“I was talking to the coffee.” Noah snatched at the offered cup with both hands, breathing deeply for a moment before taking a long swig. “Oh my god, I needed that.” He cradled the cup close as he waited for the first rush of caffeine to hit. Peter took advantage of his distraction to slip out his phone and thumb open the camera app, because really, how could he not? Turn about _was_ fair play, after all (he was perfectly happy to play fair, as long as it was to his advantage.) Noah twitched slightly at the tell-tale ‘click’ sound, sending him what was likely meant to be a baleful glare as he took another sip. “You know what? This coffee is so good I’m just gonna overlook that. But if you plan to continue, you’d better hand over whatever it is I can smell in that box.”

“Seems like a fair trade to me,” Peter commented, getting a plate out of the cupboard and loading it up with two of the doughnuts. He’d managed to get there early enough to have almost the full selection available, and had snagged the Sheriff a pair of the chocolate cake-style ones with the maple-bourbon glaze and candied bacon topping, picking up a fluffernutter and a strawberry lemonade for himself. Handing the plate over, he dropped into one of the chairs to help himself to his own breakfast.

“Holy shit.” Looking up, Peter saw Noah staring with near reverence at the pastry in his hand, tone still vague and half-asleep. “This is so delicious I’d probably let you have nudes if you wanted them.”

Peter almost spat coffee across the table, slamming the train of thought that remark launched to an immediate and absolute stop. It was _FAR_ too early to deal with that in any way, shape, or form. He cleared his throat as subtly as possible, dredging up as much of his innate cockiness as he could. “Appreciated though the offer is, I feel a simple thank you would suffice.” Smirk now firmly in place, he couldn’t help but tack on; “This time.”

“Suit yourself.” Noah shrugged and continued to practically inhale the doughnuts.

Deciding it was probably safe to make another attempt at his own, Peter bit into the strawberry lemonade, the brisk tartness of the strawberry glaze and lemon curd filling doing wonders to snap his brain back into proper focus. By the time he moved on to the fluffernutter he was idly considering a few different approaches that might allow him to control the radio for the trip, when he had to pause to enjoy just how unbelievably rich and gooey the doughnut was. He was fairly sure he had thick marshmallow glaze smeared allover his mouth before he was halfway through the thing, but couldn’t honestly bring himself to care. A glance up at Noah showed that he’d discarded the now empty plate and was back to clutching at his coffee cup like a lifeline, gaze locked with an almost laser-like intensity on Peter and the doughnut he held.

“Don’t even think about it. We both get two, I even gave you the two with actual protein on them. The rest of this one is mine.”

Noah jolted like he’d touched a live wire. “What? No, I wasn’t…I just...noticed the time, is all.” He all but dropped his cup on the counter and started hurrying in direction of the stairs. “I’m just, gonna, go, get cleaned up,” he offered in vague explanation, pointing absently towards the upper level as he hit the doorway. Peter blinked after him as he left, checking his watch before mentally shrugging and finishing his breakfast. He was definitely going to have to make a point to get to that shop more often. Once he was done, he gathered up his trash and tossed it, washing and putting away the plate so it didn’t sit in the sink for several days. Sniffing curiously at the coffee still in the pot, he decided it actually smelled fairly decent, and topped up both their to-go cups, rinsing it out when he was done. Unsure how long Noah would be (he could still hear the shower going), Peter took both cups with him to the living room, sprawling on the couch and idly flipping through the channels until he found an old _Munsters_ rerun.

_The Munsters_ had only just barely given way to _The Addams Family_ when Noah came traipsing back downstairs. He had a duffel bag in one hand and a dry cleaning style zippered bag bearing the name of Nathan’s shop over the other shoulder. It was annoyingly opaque and gave Peter no clues as to what the suit it contained might look like (he was still irritated about that, but determined not to let the other man see.) Noah took in what playing for a second, before casting a mischievous grin Peter’s way.

“So, did Talia ever let you be Wednesday, or did she always make you be Pugsley?”

Choosing not to dignify that with a response (because he’d rather not think about the actual answer), he turned off the TV and went to pick up his suitcase, sliding the strap of his matching garment bag over his shoulder. “If you’re wanting to get there by dinner time, I suggest we head out as soon as possible.”

“Oh, yeah, let me just go empty the cof-”

“Already done,” Peter interrupted, handing him his cup. “I figured we could both do with a refill.”

Noah blinked at him a moment, before a warm smile lit up his face. “Thank you, Peter.”

“Not a problem at all.” He deliberately ignored the weird whooshing sensation in his stomach, gesturing towards the front door. “Shall we?”

“After you. Jeep’s unlocked.”

Peter headed out and got his bags secured in the rear of the SUV while Noah made sure the front door was properly locked. Taking advantage of his head start, Peter already had his phone linked to the Jeep’s radio and was scrolling through some of his Spotify playlists by the time Noah stored his own bags and climbed into the cab. When he noticed what Peter was doing, he shot the wolf an irritated look that was at best half-serious, before shaking his head with a sigh.

“I’ll allow it for now, but don’t think you’re going to be controlling it the whole way.”

“We’ll see.”

“I mean, I suppose we could make a deal that if you get the radio, I get all the snacks.”

“Snacks?…” Peter immediately perked up, phone temporarily forgotten.

Noah silently reached back into one of the bags stashed behind the passenger seat and tossed something into Peter’s lap. It was one of the big multi-packs of Reese’s Eggs they always put out for Easter. Peter stared at it for a long moment as Noah started up the vehicle and pulled out onto the road. Finally he snatched it up and cradled it protectively to his chest.

“Fine, but I get control at least half the time.” Selection made, he hit ‘Shuffle Play’ and took a sip of his coffee as 90s rock began to echo from the speakers.

“Deal,” Noah chuckled, turning onto the interstate. Peter just gave him a smug smile as he leaned his seat back and got comfortable.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you haven't heard the song mentioned, I highly recommend it. It's pure 60s British bubblegum pop, and stupidly catchy.  
> Also, I now really want to split a milkshake with one of them in a cheesy diner somewhere.
> 
> And yay, after like 20000 words or so, they're finally on their way to the place where the pretending has to happen! This is also now officially the longest thing I've ever written, and it's only maybe halfway done? (I'm still deciding on whether to keep a few scenes or not.) Holy jeez.
> 
> And again, if anybody has trope and/or song suggestions, feel free to mention them. I love hearing what you guys think of how it's going! :D


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Road trips, first impressions, and unexpected epiphanies, oh my!
> 
> The boys finally make it to Oregon, and Peter starts to become a bit less oblivious. But sadly only a bit. ;D
> 
> Hope you enjoy! :D

Distantly, Peter heard the sound of someone calling his name, and was very confused for a moment. He suddenly snapped back into awareness from another unplanned nap to find that Noah was gently running a hand over his shoulder and calling softly to get his attention. He’d been covered with a jacket in a dismal khaki color, but it was warm and cozy, so he managed to keep his comments behind his teeth. He was also still clutching the bag of Reese’s. The noise he made was meant to be one of polite inquiry, but he suspected it sounded more vaguely puzzled than anything.

“Peter, you awake?” Noah’s voice was still soft, but a more normal volume now. “It’s been almost three hours, thought we could both do with a break.”

_A_ _lmost three_ _hours?!_ Peter blinked rapidly in shock, hoping it came off as just further efforts at wakefulness. He couldn’t remember when he’d last slept deeply enough in someone else’s presence to lose track of time like that (let alone _twice_. What on earth was going on?...) Looking around, he saw that they’d pulled into one of the ubiquitous truck stops scattered along the highway system, complete with gleaming rows of semis off to one side and a random fast food restaurant built in. Shaking off the lingering traces of sleep and disorientation, he sat up, rubbing a hand over his face and stretching as much as the space would allow.

“Sounds like an excellent idea. Do we need any gas while we’re here? I shudder to think what the mileage is on this thing.”

“I filled up on the way home last night, so we should be fine. And I’m pretty sure it does at least as well as your Cobras, if not better, thank you very much.”

Peter rolled his eyes as he slid out of the SUV, leaving the jacket and chocolates on the seat. They headed inside, Noah ducking off towards the restrooms while Peter wandered among the shelves. He snagged them both sodas out of one of the fridge cases, looking over a nearby spin rack of souvenir magnets with horrified fascination. After making his purchases, he headed over to where Noah had appeared, handing him one of the bottles on their way out and receiving a pleasantly startled “Thanks” in return. Climbing back into the Jeep, he draped the jacket across his lap (it really was surprisingly cozy), popping open the bag and passing a Reese’s over to Noah.

“Thank you, Peter.” The accompanying smile was warm, and almost fond, and just a little bit teasing, and Peter had no idea how to respond to that _AT ALL_ , so he took a large bite of another Reese’s. He was starting to get a few suspicions about the nature of some of his recent reactions that he didn’t care for in the slightest, so he very firmly shoved them into a tiny mental compartment and tossed it to the back of his mind. Now was very much Not The Time to be considering such things. In desperate search for a distraction as they pulled back onto the highway, he snagged his phone from the cup holder he’d dropped it in, starting in surprise to see it was still hooked into the sound system. Noah shrugged lightly. “It was a decent enough mix. I didn’t see the point of waking you to unlock it just so I could change it.”

“Well, I suppose you had to show some sort of taste eventually.”

“You really know how to kill the urge to compliment you, you know that?”

“I thought you weren’t trying to ‘pander to my already sizable ego’, I believe it was?”

“I mean, I can go for outright insults if you’d really prefer.”

“That might rather ruin the impression we’re meant to be giving this weekend.”

“I don’t know, it seems to work for most sitcom couples.”

“While you rather sadly have a point, I’ve never really understood that trend. Why would you want to be with someone you can’t stand? What’s the point if you don’t actually like your partner?”

“Fine, I guess I’ll just have to continue to be nice to you, then.” The edge of the grin he could see curling Noah’s lips was definitely teasing now.

Firmly throttling a similar reaction of his own, he managed to mutter out “...asshole” before taking a deep swig of soda and deliberately ignoring the fondness in his own tone.

“Hey now, no need to be a brat about it.”

Peter made a considering noise, reaching for his phone and cranking up the volume until Chris Cornell’s gruff vocals were reverberating throughout the cabin and thoroughly drowning out any potential further conversation. Noah’s grin collapsed into outright laughter. After a few moments to make his point, Peter smirked smugly in acknowledgment of his victory and returned the music to normal levels. Since there seemed to be no objections to his continued control of the radio after all, he snagged a charging cable to give his phone’s battery a break and idly munched his way through a couple more of the Eggs.

“So, not to sound in any way like an overly bored child, but about how much longer are we likely to be on the road?”

“Trust me, I’m pretty sure that if you downed half a bottle of Yellow Hornets with a can of Red Bull, you still couldn’t match the impatience and energy of a six year old Stiles on a long trip once he’d gone through all the activities we’d brought along.” The soft, reminiscent smile on his face belied the implicit complaint in his tone. “But to answer your question, probably almost another three hours. We hit some construction on the way to the border that cost us some time. I’m actually a little bit surprised none of it woke you up.”

Since Peter was still very firmly Not Thinking about the probable reasons behind that, he opted not to address the comment or any underlying questions that may or may not have been present. “So it’ll be about four o’clock, then? What about our wayward young lovers?”

“Stiles texted me not long before we stopped at the gas station. They’ll probably only beat us by an hour at most.” He tossed Peter a quick wink. “Don’t worry, I reminded him that if Lena asks any questions before we get there, the point is to make people at least tolerate you for the weekend.”

“Thanks so much for that,” he replied with an exaggerated eye roll. “Particularly when he’s shown such an excellent track record of doing what you tell him.”

“I may have mentioned what a shame it would be if I had to clear out his old room before he could move anything to storage, and his comic books ended up in a box bound for Goodwill.”

Peter blinked at Noah in startlement for a moment, before forcing as much sarcasm into his voice as he could manage. “I’m touched.” The oddest part was that he actually kind of was, and had absolutely no idea how to subtly process that while in a small, enclosed space with the other man. He cast about in his mind for a different conversational topic with a certain desperation. “You haven’t mentioned if there are any subjects I should avoid in the interest of not upsetting our hostess.”

“Nothing I can really think of? I mean outside of the whole ‘supernatural’ thing, at least. I think we’re dropping enough bombshells as it is this weekend.”

“Are you referring to Stiles or to yourself? And is either likely to be an issue?”

“Not with Lena, no. When she called me to find out when we’d be coming up, she mostly was just very excited that I’d met someone I was willing to bring, and also very irritated that she didn’t hear about you from me first.” There was a faintly strained cast to Noah’s features and voice as he said this, and Peter again felt that strange, unpleasant internal jab that he generally assumed was supposed to be guilt. But as he immediately reminded himself, Noah hadn’t _had_ to go along with this, so really there shouldn’t be anything to feel guilty about. “The rest of the family, however, is likely to be a total crapshoot. But hopefully at least an entertaining one.”

“Mmm. And how nicely are we meant to be playing with this extended Stilinski clan?”

“Well, I don’t want to be actively stricken from the family record or anything, but I can’t say my feelings would be hurt if I just casually stopped being invited to most family events.”

Peter felt a wicked smirk curve across his face. “I’ll make sure to keep that in mind.”

Noah’s expression was the same mix of wry and fond that was becoming increasingly familiar these days. “Of that, I have no doubt.”

Still smirking, Peter sprawled back in his seat, popping another Reese’s Egg into his mouth and watching the Oregon countryside roll by out the window. After another hour or so of surprisingly comfortable silence his playlist finally looped back around and began repeating. Snatching up his phone he began searching through his other options, absentmindedly passing a couple of the chocolates over to Noah as he scrolled. Finally deciding on something much more modern and pop-oriented (partially to mix things up a bit, partially just to see if he could get a rise out of his traveling companion), he rather gleefully hit ‘Shuffle Play’, and settled back to await a response. He was not disappointed, and the resulting musical debate lasted so long he didn’t even notice when they traded the highway for surface streets. Peter stared around in surprise at finding himself suddenly back in the midst of suburbia.

Sitting up straighter as Noah pulled into the driveway of a small two-story ranch style house and parked behind the glaringly orange Honda Element that sat next to Derek’s Camaro, he caught the sound of three heartbeats inside, two of them very familiar. He disconnected his phone and slipped it back into his pocket, handing the jacket back to Noah as they both climbed out of the Jeep. The partially full bag of Reese’s he kept, sliding it surreptitiously into his bag as they unloaded. Before they could even start up the front path, the door opened as everyone came spilling out. The charge was led by an older woman whom Peter assumed to be Noah’s great-aunt, if the smiles on both their faces were anything to go by. Stiles just barely managed to catch his father’s suit bag as the woman almost tackled him in an enthusiastic hug. She was tall enough that her head tucked neatly under Noah’s chin, the shark-tail hem of her navy tunic still fluttering with the momentum of her embrace. It took everything Peter had not to have any semblance of a visual reaction when he registered how alarmingly plaid the leggings beneath the tunic were. _Dear God, were they all like this?_ He began to feel a vague sense of alarm about what horrors the wedding might hold. Luckily before he could get too lost in these thoughts, the pair were disentangling themselves and turning his way.

“Lena, I’d like you to meet Peter Hale, Derek’s uncle, and my current Significant Annoyance. Peter, my aunt, Magdalena Stilinski.”

Peter caught up the hand she held out, raising it to his lips for a brief kiss. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you,” he said with a somewhat startling amount of sincerity and a charming smile. “Rest assured, most of what they’ve likely already told you about me is only about 60% true at best,” he added with a quick wink. Noah rolled his eyes as he stepped over and wrapped an arm around Peter’s shoulders, Peter sliding his own arm around the other man’s waist almost on instinct as their hostess let out a laugh. Unexpectedly keen bottle-green eyes gave him a very thorough once-over, her smile only growing wider. It took on a playful gleam as she shifted her focus to Noah.

“Well, it looks like your tastes haven’t changed quite as much as I might have thought.”

Stiles’ eyebrows almost hit his hairline at this comment, and Derek swiftly looked down to hide his own smile. Peter himself was absolutely fascinated by the bright blush that flooded his “boyfriend’s” face in response to her teasing. The grin he sent her was perfectly delighted. “It sounds as though you have any number of stories I very much look forward to hearing.”

“We’ll see. If I decide you deserve them.”

With a long-suffering sigh, Noah glanced heavenward as if praying for strength. “Be nice.”

Peter couldn’t resist. “To which of us were you speaking, darling?” He managed to gain himself an eye roll from both the Stilinski men, and a snort from Lena.

“Can’t take you anywhere, can I?” Noah muttered, pressing a soft kiss into his temple. It was so brief that Peter almost couldn’t be certain it had happened, except for the way everything inside him seemed to tilt sideways for a moment. Stiles’ sudden loud complaints about the chilly winds and his growing hunger provided a welcome distraction as they all turned to head into the house, Noah slipping Peter’s bags from him and snagging his suit back from his son with one of those exuberant hugs they’d always seemed so fond of. He even pulled Derek into a quick one-armed embrace as he reached him. His nephew accepted it with far more aplomb than Peter might have expected, but then Derek had also had far more time to adapt to his and Stiles’ relatively tactile nature. Slowly bringing up the rear in order to give himself some time to process ( ~~or would suppress be the more~~ ~~accurat~~ ~~e word?~~ ), the wolf turned to offer Lena his arm, only to catch her gracing him with a calculating stare that reminded him far too uncomfortably of the other Stilinskis of his acquaintance. Pulling his veneer of charming politeness about himself even more firmly, he continued with his original plan, extending his elbow gallantly in her direction.

“Ms. Lena?…,” he inquired, aiming for casually debonair and mostly succeeding. She held his gaze for another long moment, before rolling her eyes and gripping lightly at his offered arm.

“Oh good grief, just call me Lena, you make me sound like a schoolmarm.”

Peter chuckled and began leading her back up the front path. Internally he was still trying with a rather determined fierceness to ignore the fact that when Noah had kissed him …his first instinct had not been to lean _away_. Instead he had wanted, with everything in him, to lean _into_ the other man, and that… that was _**NOT ACCEPTABLE**_. This was _NOT THE TIME_ , and most certainly _NOT THE PLACE_ for any sort of confused nonsense like that. And it _was_ nonsense, wasn’t it? It wasn’t as though he was actually _interested_ in Noah, after all. His instincts were just a bit confused by their ruse ( _...weren’t they?…_ ) It was just a matter of being in the middle of a bit of a dry spell, and the fact that the two of them had gotten a bit closer than he’d perhaps realized. That was _all_ _it was._ (It had to be.)

Almost on autopilot, he allowed Lena to precede him inside, taking in the snug but comfortable living room as they entered. He dropped gracefully into a corner of the empty couch, Stiles and his nephew having claimed the loveseat (he barely choked back a number of remarks about that one), his hostess ensconced in a rather cozy looking recliner. Noah was nowhere in sight, but Peter could hear his familiar heartbeat coming from off to one side on the upper floor. Stiles had gone off on a tangent about how the last time he’d been this hungry it had led to a number of questionable life choices at a very sketchy Taco Bell. About halfway through a rather detailed description of bodily reactions that Peter really would rather have not known about (nobody needed to know about them, frankly), a familiar step on the stairs had him instantly turning in his seat, chasing the trailing edges of Noah’s aftershave in the air, the first glimpse of his familiar figure easing the wolf’s perpetual alertness just a notch. Abruptly Peter stopped and considered his actions for a moment, coming to some very unfortunate realizations.

Oh.

_Oh_.

...Fuck.

_FUCK_.

This...this was not good. This was not good, at all. He felt a mounting panic welling up in his throat and mercilessly jammed it back down before any hint of it could leak into his scent. He did NOT need his nephew noticing anything out of the ordinary. Once that was accomplished, and he could think clearly again, he concluded that perhaps, _perhaps_ this wasn’t a complete disaster. So...perhaps there were more feelings at play than he’d originally wished to acknowledge. Given the performance they were currently attempting, those could only be helpful in the long run, really. He could allow himself to indulge his urges just a bit this weekend, just enough to get it out of his system, and keep himself and his suddenly haywire instincts from fucking up the first halfway decent relationship he’d managed since the fire. It was perfect. Absolutely foolproof.

Noah dropped down beside him on the couch, shooting his son a look of resigned disgust that clearly conveyed that not only had he heard this story before, it wasn’t even the worst such one Stiles had shared. That didn’t stop him from interrupting him anyway (thank god.) “Well, now that I’m no longer in the mood to so much as look at food any time soon, how was your all’s trip?”

Stiles’ echoing complaint of “Da-a-a-ad!” was skillfully ignored by Derek, who very calmly answered, “Pretty peaceful, actually. We took the scenic route along the coast for a lot of it, which did wonders to keep him distracted.” The other wolf met his boyfriend’s outraged glare with a raised eyebrow, staring him down until Stiles finally looked away with a grumbling, derisive sniff. Lena watched the whole thing with fond amusement before shifting her focus to the pair on the couch.

“I’ve already heard all about their trip here, what about yours? Dinner’s still got a few more minutes no matter what anybody wants or doesn’t want, so spill.”

“Yeah, I gotta say I’m still amazed you managed to make it here without murdering Peter or leaving him at a rest stop somewhere, Dad.”

Noah sighed good-naturedly at that as Peter sent the teen a rather unimpressed look. “Outside of some construction near the state line, our trip was pretty peaceful, too. Well,” reaching over, he placed a hand on the wolf’s leg just above his knee, squeezing gently. The touch crackled along Peter’s nerves, his body shifting closer to the other man without thought. “The snoring occasionally got to be a bit much, but nothing I’m not used to at this point.” That was enough to startle him out of his vague contemplation of whether he most wanted Noah to move his hand away entirely, or just move it higher. He turned a narrow-eyed stare on his “boyfriend”.

“I. Do not. Snore.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, is this like how you don’t pout?”

Peter drew in a slow, calming breath as he casually crossed his arms. (This turned out to be a terrible idea as he ended up with a lung-full of Noah’s scent, and found himself leaning even further into the other man’s personal space.) “You couldn’t even let me attempt to make a good first impression?”

“I’m just trying to make sure Lena gets a good feeling for what you’re really like, dear.” Noah’s teasing grin had absolutely no right being that adorable and distracting.

“Oh, I think I’m getting a very clear picture of things, indeed. Don’t you worry a bit about that.” The look in her eyes was both intensely amused and highly knowing in a way that made the hair on the back of Peter’s neck lift. Before he could worry too much about what it might mean, a loudly buzzing alarm mercifully interrupted them. “Ah, I believe dinner’s ready,” she announced, still with that serenely amused smile, rising from her chair and heading into the kitchen.

“Oh thank god,” Stiles muttered, bouncing up off the loveseat and all but sprinting after her. The buzzing finally cut off and the faint hints of garlic and tomato that had been lingering in the air suddenly flooded through the open doorway. Derek watched his antics with a fond smile and a wry head shake.

“You wouldn’t think he’d eaten at least a dozen Reese’s Eggs barely an hour ago, would you?”

“Judgmental isn’t a good look on anyone, nephew mine. Well, except perhaps me, but I suppose there have to be exceptions to every rule.”

The eye roll that gained him practically echoed with all the elegant censure so classic to those of the Hale line. Peter felt obscurely proud. Derek didn’t even verbally reply, just turned a raised eyebrow to Noah. Noah shrugged unconcernedly.

“It seemed a reasonable way to keep him quiet for a while.”

This rather vaguely offensive comment from the other man still didn’t prod a response out of his nephew, but his other eyebrow winged up to join its twin. Bright hazel eyes glanced back and forth between the two men on the sofa for a moment before swiftly dropping to the swirling paisley patterns in the rug (Peter had been trying desperately not to look directly at it), the faintest grin beginning to twitch at the corners of his mouth. Thankfully before the silence could get awkward, Stiles’ voice came loudly from the other room.

“GET IN HERE SO WE CAN EAT, YOU JERKS!!!”

The three of them snorted almost in unison, standing from their respective seats and shuffling towards the kitchen. He very resolutely avoided his nephew’s gaze, straightening his shoulders and affecting his best saunter. If he was staring at the back of Noah’s neck as he followed him, it was only because there was a wrinkle in his collar that Peter was fighting the urge to fix. He most certainly wasn’t watching for the flashing glimpses of his nape it offered. That would simply be ridiculous, and faintly pathetic, and he was neither of those things. With a deep, fortifying breath, he braced himself for whatever challenges dinner might bring.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh dear, what unfortunate timing for starting to realize how you feel. What ever will you do now, Peter? XD
> 
> Hope everybody enjoyed this chapter, and I am diligently trying to get the next planned out and typed. My job has decided that now is the perfect time to do multiple, massive aisle resets, so my energy levels are fair shot, but I promise to do my best!
> 
> Let me know what you think so far, and as always feel free to throw trope ideas my way if you wish. :D


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And the evening continues. No fake dating scenario is complete without a (somewhat) awkward family dinner, right? ;D
> 
> I know it's been ...quite a week... so this may not be quite as polished as previous chapters, but I hope you enjoy it anyway, and it brings a bit of cheer to your day!

The three of them trooped into the brightly lit kitchen. At some point the walls between it and the dining room had been knocked down to half walls, opening up the small space and creating an unexpectedly airy feel. Stiles was just finishing setting the table as Lena sorted through a silverware drawer for serving utensils. Noah immediately went over and took over the search, shooing her politely towards the dining room, Stiles swiftly appearing to drape an arm around her and escort her over to the table.  Aside from an exasperatedly amused sigh, she allowed it, taking the seat at the head, and dragging Peter and Derek into the seats to either side of hers.

“Well, while those two make themselves useful, why don’t we get know each other a bit better? I’ve yet to hear what either of you do for a living. Although I believe Ruth implied you might be a lawyer, Peter?”

“Ah, somewhat yes and no, there, as it happens. I actually was running my own firm for a while before ...an accident… rather put me out of commission for a while.” It suddenly occurred to Peter to wonder how much Lena had been told about the fire, if anything. “I’ve only just recently been able to begin the process of getting re-certified, so in the mean time I’ve been working strictly in a research capacity. Though I’m finding I enjoy it more than I might have expected.”

Her expression was gently sympathetic without being cloying. “Stiles told me a bit about that. I know loss like that can take quite the toll.” Thankfully before she could say anything else, Noah and Stiles appeared, bearing heavily laden serving dishes. As soon as Stiles had freed a hand, he grabbed the one Derek had laid on the table and gave it a comforting squeeze, before running his fingers softly through his hair. Peter felt a deep-seated urge to make a snarky comment, only to have it utterly evaporate under the sensation of Noah cupping a gentle hand over the join of his shoulder and neck, thumb stroking softly over his nape. His entire body seemed to melt for a moment, before he remembered exactly where they were and snapped himself out of it.

“Derek’s been traveling with me while we both work on our degrees,” Stiles explained, claiming the seat next to his boyfriend as Noah turned and headed back into the kitchen. He returned with a glass of water for Lena and Derek, and a two-liter of Dr. Pepper he split between himself, Peter, and Stiles, before finally claiming his own spot.

“What are you studying then?” Lena selected a couple of pieces of garlic bread as she asked this, her movement apparently the signal for everyone to descend on the food. Without even thinking about it, Peter scooped up some of the salad and deposited it on Noah’s plate. He wasn’t sure what was funnier; the glare Noah gave him in return, or Stiles almost snorting soda out of his nose as he tried not to laugh. Still glaring, Noah snagged four pieces of garlic bread and two of what appeared to be stuffed peppers in defiance, earning himself his own glare from his son. Peter simply dished himself up a similar portion without acknowledging either man’s expression, serenely cocky smirk firmly in place. Derek and Lena blithely ignored all three of them as they continued their conversation.

“For now I’m just focusing on getting a business degree while I see if anything else catches my interest. It seemed the most potentially useful fallback choice if needed.”

“Sounds logical to me. Sometimes we don’t know exactly what we want until we’re far older than you are now.” Her gaze flickered seemingly casually Peter’s way, but he kept his eyes very deliberately on his plate.

A faint smile twitched at the corner of Derek’s mouth, but he just nodded at her before continuing. “Meanwhile, Stiles is still getting his gen eds out of the way while he tries to decide which of a dozen different majors he actually wants to try for. Or how many.”

“That sounds about like Stiles. Why go in just one direction when you can try for five at once?” Their matching fond smiles threatened to make Peter feel vaguely nauseous, but he reminded himself that he was supposed to be playing nice right now.

“Seriously? I’m right here,” Stiles stated indignantly, cheek bulging with half-chewed bread as a couple pieces of lettuce fell back to his plate. Noah just shook his head.

Derek turned calmly to look at Stiles. “Oh, we know.” Without missing a beat he immediately turned back to Lena and complemented her on dinner. Stiles threw up both hands in a ‘what the hell?!’ gesture as he choked down the bite still in his mouth, but continued to be ignored. He sulkily returned to his food as Noah failed rather miserably at containing his snickers. Peter managed much better, distracted by just how good the food really was. The peppers were stuffed with lasagna, properly made with a bechamel sauce and everything. He was highly impressed, and wondered vaguely if she’d be willing to share the recipe. The fact that Noah was reaching for a third pepper implied that he rather liked them, as well. (Not that that particularly mattered. Why would it? He wasn’t planning to cook for him anytime soon or anything, after all. Certainly not.)

Shaking off the annoying turn his thoughts had taken, Peter tuned back into the conversation to find that Derek had gotten his phone out. He was showing Lena pictures from his and Stiles’ recent trip to South Dakota, which apparently included stops at an active archaeological dig site for mammoths, and the in progress Crazy Horse memorial. Derek was providing stories to accompany some of the photos, expression surprisingly lively despite the dry humor in his tone. For a split second, Peter saw a vision of an eight year old Derek excitedly explaining the plot of the book he’d just read overlaying his nephews current features,  and felt it like a kick to the chest. He closed his eyes to try and gain a better hold of his emotions, cursing the sentimentality this weekend seemed to be bringing out in him. It was ridiculous, and frankly beneath him. A sudden warm weight just above his wrist had his eyes snapping open. Noah was leaning forward on crossed arms, ostensibly to get a better look at the pictures, his rear hand laying lightly on Peter’s arm and providing a grounding touch. A quick glance around showed that no one else appeared to have noticed his moment of weakness (thank god), Stiles and Derek arguing over one of his re-tellings while Lena laughed at both of them. He took in a deep breath, forcing his muscles to relax and his fists to unclench as he released it. Noah’s hand gave one last gentle squeeze before sliding away, his face never once looking away from the arguing couple. His timing was impeccable, as Stiles suddenly rounded on the two of them, holding one hand up towards Derek’s face the whole time.

“Okay, you know what? You’re still wrong, but I’m done arguing with you about it. Don’t you two have any cutesy photos or dumb stories to tell, instead?” The tone of his voice was somewhere between peevish and malicious as he stared them (mainly Peter) down.

“Well, you see, son, not all of us have jobs that allow for random jaunts around the country. Or the funds.”

“Oh hush, you know I’d be happy to take you anywhere you want to go if you’d just take the time off.” Peter waved a hand dismissively at Noah as he slid his own phone from his pocket. “And I do at least have some pictures from our last trip to the Farmer’s Market that turned out rather well.”

“Oh god, Peter, don’t-”

“Oh these I have to see,” Stiles interrupted, putting one elbow down in a puddle of sauce on his plate as he eagerly leaned forward. As he squawked and flailed, Peter pulled up his camera roll, showing Lena a few of the other pictures they’d put together. Finally managing to get his plate moved away, Stiles leaned back in just in time to see some of the shots from the Market.

“Dad! You didn’t tell me you were getting a cat!”

Peter smirked as Noah just sighed out a soft “...goddammit Peter…”

“I told your father that you’d want to see pictures of your baby sister, but he wouldn’t listen to me.”

“That’s because I don’t have a cat and I’m not getting one,” Noah forcefully insisted. “She just always wants attention when we stop at that booth.”

“I think that means you’re getting a cat, Dad. That’s just how it works, I don’t make the rules.”

“No.”

“But she’s so cute though! Oh my god, what are you going to name her? You should name her Selena. Or maybe Leia. Or Padme!”

“Padme had a choice between Ewan MacGregor in Jesus mode or an angsty teenager, and look what happened. I wouldn’t wish that kind of poor decision making on anyone, even a pet. Now, Leia, maybe.”

Lena was nodding sagely at Noah. “You know, when you’re right, you’re right. Anakin didn’t need a wife, he needed some goddamn therapy.” This time it was Derek’s turn to almost snort soda, as Stiles suddenly started flailing again.

“Wait, no, you can’t name her Leia because that would make me Luke, and I’m _totally_ Han. If any of us have that stubbornly goody-goody quality it’s you.”

Noah rubbed the heel of his hand into his forehead like he was trying to dispel a headache as Peter began to give him a slow series of once-overs. Eventually his ongoing silence drew a suspicious glance from the other man. “...what?”

“Just picturing you in that all black outfit from Return of the Jedi. That look’s always been a bit of a favorite.” He let a wicked grin spread honey slow across his face. “It’s quite the visual.” If he was completely sincere in that compliment it was no one’s business but his own.

“No.”

“Not even the boots?”

Stiles twitched in mild horror. “Oh Jesus, you two, please stop. I want to still be able to watch those movies.”

“He’s got a point about that outfit, Stiles,” Derek chimed in with a teasing smile.

“Damn right,” Lena added.

“How about the tank top and cargo pants from Empire? You probably already have some of those hidden in your closet, don’t you?,” Peter asked, as if no one else had spoken, delighting in the blush that was slowly suffusing Noah’s face. “You’d look amazing in that top.”

“OH MY GOD, PLEASE STOP, I’M BEGGING YOU! That’s my DAD!”

Picking up his drink, Peter gazed into it, swirling the liquid around as though it were fine wine in a crystal goblet instead of soda in a faded rose Tupperware tumbler, before casually opining, “You know, the urge to make some sort of comment about you not being the only one to call him ‘Daddy’ is almost overwhelming, but I’m not sure your father’s blood pressure could take it.” He calmly took a long sip as he enjoyed the reactions this statement wrought.

Noah’s chair scraped harshly across the worn linoleum as he shot upright and loudly announced “Okay, time for dessert! Derek, would you please help me clear the table?”

Derek nodded, face still caught somewhere between horror and amusement, springing to gather up the plates from his side of the table. His beloved on the other hand currently bore the expression of someone who’d happened upon a rotting carcass unawares and was struggling to keep his dinner where it belonged. Their hostess’ bright laughter was echoing through the room however, so Peter generally considered it a job well done. He glanced up at Noah to enjoy the absolutely _glowing_ state of his blush, only to have him snatch up the last uneaten piece of garlic bread from Peter’s plate and swiftly jam it into Peter’s mouth before picking up the plate and stalking away. Lena’s laughter only got louder and more raucous. With a shrug, Peter grabbed the chunk of bread, happily finishing it off (it really was amazingly good.)

“ Oh, yes, I like him. You can keep this one, Noah,” Lena declared, finally starting to get her laughter under control. This finally served to snap Stiles out of his state of shock and disgust.

“Wait a minute, what? Excuse me?” He gestured indignantly at Derek and himself.

“Oh calm down, Stiles.” She turned a sweet smile to his nephew, which Derek tentatively returned. “Derek was never even in question.” An admonishing finger swung her own great-(great-)nephew’s  direction . “Stiles, don’t you dare let him get away.” 

This seemed to mollify him somewhat, just in time for Noah and Derek to return with plates of dessert for everyone. Blithely ignoring the force with which his own plate was set down, Peter took a deep breath of the lush scents.

“Is this...tiramisu cheesecake?”

“It is indeed. Noah sent me the recipe a few weeks ago and I’ve only just gotten around to trying it.”

Spooning up a sizable bite, Peter let the rich flavors burst across his tongue. It was absolutely _fantastic_. He turned a half-serious glare on his purported significant other.

“How come you’ve never made this for me? If you had the recipe?”

The tips of his ears and edges of his cheekbones were still violently pink, but otherwise Noah had regained his usual stoic deadpan. Without even looking up from his own serving, he replied, “You never asked.” Peter narrowed his gaze even further.

“Then you now have fair warning to expect it frequently in the future.”

“Mmm. We’ll see. Maybe if you make it worth my while.” Still without looking at Peter, Noah took a bite and slid his flipped over spoon slowly out of his mouth in a manner that _had_ to be deliberately provocative. Peter’s mind instantly flooded with ways he could try to ‘convince’ him, and he just barely throttled down the arousal trying to surge through him before his scent could alert Derek to the rather unfortunate predicament he’d lately found himself in. His nephew was already looking far too amused by their antics. Luckily not everyone was so inclined.

“Jeez, don’t you dare start again. I swear, you two weren’t this bad the last time we were home. What the hell happened?” Stiles was still looking faintly shell-shocked, voice plaintive as his gaze darted between Peter and his father.

“I mean to be fair, they have been getting worse each time. I think it’s just moving exponentially now.”

“Well, maybe if you visited more often, you’d be more used to it,” Noah admonished.

Peter sent Stiles a faintly injured look. “You don’t call, you don’t write. If it weren’t for me, what would your poor father do for company?”

“Hey! I do have other friends, you know.”

Before Peter could call him on this ridiculous assertion, Lena intervened.

“You really should visit your father more often, Stiles. Family is important,” she added with a stern look at both her relatives. Then she gave a considering shrug. “Well, some family is important, anyway. Although for the sake of your sanity and future therapy bills, when you do visit I recommend calling ahead and knocking loudly when you get there.” She punctuated this bit of advice with an exaggerated wink.

Momentarily frozen in horror (though whether this was due to what was being suggested or who was doing the suggesting, Peter was unsure), Stiles didn’t even notice Noah switching his own empty plate for his son’s still half-full one (ah, the perils of extreme overreaction), but both wolves did. Neither opted to say anything, although Peter did steal a bite for himself with a cheeky grin. Noah gave him a flat look but allowed it. The true payoff, however, was when Stiles finally went back to eat some of his dessert, only to have his spoon scrape across an empty plate. The lightening fast shift from blank confusion to intense suspicion as he glared around at the other three men at the table was a sight to behold. Peter rather wished he could have seen it directly, but he, Noah, and Derek were all studiously avoiding that accusing amber gaze, their faces a study in bland indifference. Lena was attempting to hide her smile in her water glass, to fair success. Skillfully scooping up the last bit of his stolen cheesecake just before Stile’s spoon clanged off the plate with all the speed and accuracy of a striking cobra, Noah stared his son dead in the eyes as he ate it, one eyebrow quirked in challenge. Stiles’ petulant glare hinted at future retaliation, but he accepted his fate with ill grace. Looking around at the increasingly poorly hidden smirks among his dining companions, something faintly vindictive flickered through Stiles’ eyes. He turned to address his ‘aunt’.

“So, Lena, I was thinking. I know I said Derek and I would help you with those repairs to the floodlights out back, and resealing the window on our guest bedroom, but I think maybe Derek should have Peter help him with that, and I’ll help Dad with the dishes and cleaning the kitchen. It’ll give all of us a chance to catch up a bit.” Stiles’ smile was utterly guileless in a way that left Peter impressed despite his irritation at the suggestion. Not as impressed as he was at the way his nephew smoothly kicked Stiles in the most sensitive part of his ankle as he stood while still making it seem accidental, but impressed all the same. The sad, hurt look he received in response was roundly ignored.

“However you four want to work it out is fine with me.” Lena was still smiling fondly at all of them as she stood as well and began walking towards the back door, Derek following silently in her wake. Noah ignored his son’s antics with the ease of long practice, turning towards Peter with a calm smile and mischievous eyes.

“Would you like to borrow a jacket, _sweetheart_? Knowing you, you didn’t bring anything suitable for being outside that long.”

Peter narrowed his eyes at him, barely choking back a groan of dismay as he realized that Noah had an unfortunate point. Derek’s thick sweater wouldn’t raise any eyebrows, but his own henley, while long sleeved, was also clearly too thin for the increasingly frigid winds springing up as evening set in. For a human at least. (Well, he knew there were a number of men that would have insisted they would be fine, but he’d found most such men of his acquaintance to be rather insufferable, really.) So with a deep breath and a suppressed sigh, he nodded his agreement, smile all charm and teeth.

“Thanks, _honey_ , I’d really appreciate it. I hadn’t planned on spending quite so much time outside, and I’d hate to risk damaging designer leather doing home repair.”

Looking like he was barely holding back his laughter, Noah stood and headed into the other room, one hand brushing lightly along Peter’s arm and shoulders as he went, leaving prickly tingles in its wake. Peter ignored the shiver that fluttered down his spine and began gathering up the abandoned plates and glasses, taking them over to the sink. He glanced back over his shoulder at the still sulking teen on the far side of the table before going back to sorting out his armload.

“You know, you could at least pretend to be helping me.”

The pout got even more pronounced. “Fuck off, I’m injured.”

Peter’s eyes rolled so hard he could almost see Stiles without turning his head. When he went back for the rest of the dishes he took the long way around the table, poking Stiles in the shoulder as he went, and drawing out the (incredibly tiny) bit of pain.

“There, you’re fine now. Come help me get this set up how you want it or you’ll have to deal with how I choose to do it.”

“Ugh, fine.” Stiles finally joined him at the sink, filling one side and setting some of the dishes to soak. “How are you somehow even more annoying when you’re being helpful than when you aren’t?”

“It’s all a part of that inexplicable charm of his,” Noah commented, returning to the kitchen. Carrying, of course, that damned, hideous khaki jacket he’d covered Peter with in the car. Why would he have expected anything else? Noah held it out to Peter with a teasing smile that was shockingly free of maliciousness, eyes warm and amused in that way Peter still had absolutely no idea what to do with. “Here you go, _dearest._ I wouldn’t want you to keep Lena and Derek waiting too long.”

Grudgingly accepting the offering, Peter shrugged it on with his usual casual flair. He zipped it partway and snapped the collar into place, then had to fight an almost overwhelming urge to bury his face in it as he was hit with a blast of Noah’s worn-in scent, now mixed deliciously with his own from his use of it in the Jeep. As he looked back up at both Stilinskis, he could see the comments just barely kept trapped behind their lips, and noted the less-than-subtle movement of Stiles’ hand towards the pocket where he kept his phone. A strategic withdrawal seemed the most prudent option (he refuse to think of it as running away), so he spun towards the back door and strode confidently but swiftly outside to find out just what all menial labor he’d been summarily roped into. Hopefully it wouldn’t be _too_ unbearable.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Any opinions about Star Wars expressed here may or may not be somewhat based upon my own. ;D I mean, it's canonically Stiles' favorite series, and Luke is my Ultimate Bae, so it was inevitable that it would come up at some point. XD (Did my brain start screaming "THE CHANEL BOOTS!" at me every time I read back through the chapter to edit? Yes, because my brain is a strange and uncontrollable place. Did I laugh myself stupid each time? Also yes, because I have never pretended to be normal.)
> 
> Also, I've been to both the Mammoth Site and the Crazy Horse Memorial, though it's been several years now, and if travel is ever a thing again and you get the chance, I highly recommend both places.
> 
> Up next, we'll see what kind of construction adventures I can come up with for our wayward werewolves.
> 
> Let me know what you think, or any tropes you'd like me to see if I can work in or not. :D


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the delay on this one guys! It was fighting me tooth and nail ~~(tooth and claw?)~~ And then yesterday was my mom's birthday, so all my editing and posting time got pushed back even further. Hope it's cute enough to make up for the wait!
> 
> Featuring a bit of Hale Family Bonding Time, and more Pop Culture Commentary, all against a backdrop of Increasingly Heavy Pining (with a tiny dash of Angst. Sorry. But it comes with some Comfort, too, at least? And plenty of Cuddling.) Anyway, enjoy! :D

Peter stepped out onto the back patio, following the low hum of conversation across the yard to a moderately sized storage shed. A worn, but well-kept, extension ladder was leaning against the side of the structure as Lena pointed out the handful of floodlights in need of new batteries and explained the probable location of the window leak. As he walked up to the two of them, Derek raised a faintly incredulous eyebrow at what he was wearing, but made no actual comment. Winding down her spiel, Lena handed his nephew a plastic bucket containing a caulk gun and paint scraper, as well as several packs of fresh batteries, before glancing back and forth between the two for a moment.

“And you’re sure you don’t mind helping with this? I know Stiles can be a bit of a steamroller when he gets an idea at times.”

“It’s not a problem in the slightest, I promise.” Derek’s small smile was amused but fond, his tone just as studiously polite as Peter would have expected. He somehow couldn’t help adding his own reassurance.

“Not at all. We both gained quite a bit of experience with such things growing up. And I rather abhor doing dishes.”

Lena shot him a grin even as Derek rolled his eyes. “Well then, knock yourselves out. Not literally though, please, I’ve only blocked out so much energy for dealing with potential medical emergencies, and I suspect Stiles will require most of it.” With a nod and a parting smile, she turned and headed back into the house.

As soon as she was out of view, Derek thrust the bucket of equipment into Peter’s chest, turning to pick up the ladder once he grudgingly took it. They walked silently around to the front of the attached garage, where the first set of malfunctioning lights awaited, and Derek got the ladder easily extended and settled into place. Peter leaned casually against the side of the building, bucket dangling loosely from the fingers of one hand. He held out until Derek had almost gotten the cover plate off before he got tired of the silence.

“So. How do think it’s going so far?”

His only initial reply was a quartet of D-batteries plummeting at his head from above. He skillfully snatched them out of the air before any of them could impact, dropping them down into the bucket and plucking an unopened 4-pack out, tossing it back up to his nephew. Eventually a deadpan response echoed down.

“I think you’re very lucky that she seems to like you.”

Peter scoffed at this. “Oh come now, we aren’t doing **that** badly.”

Reaching the bottom of the ladder, screwdriver tucked into a back pocket and empty packet clasped loosely in one hand, Derek turned to stare him down, eyebrows lifted slightly in judgment. He defiantly held the gaze, refusing to back down. Eventually Derek tilted his head slightly to the side, blinked slowly at him a couple of times, before picking up the ladder again and heading to the light over the far ground floor window. Peter narrowed his eyes at Derek’s back, but ultimately chose to forgo comment, sauntering slowly after him. With its comparatively low height, Derek already had the cover off and the dead batteries extracted almost before Peter reached him. It also thankfully meant he couldn’t so easily toss them at his head, although the cacophony they made when he dropped them into the bucket instead reverberated painfully in Peter’s sensitive ears. He handed up another 4-pack with a faintly reproving look.

“Was that entirely necessary?”

His only answer was a bland smile, Derek turning back to his task without a word. Peter rolled his eyes and waited for him to finish. Jumping down from the ladder, Derek didn’t even shorten it before leading them back around to the patio area and the set over the back door. Slouching against the house as his nephew got to work, he tilted his head to the side to stare in at Noah and Stiles as they continued working on the dishes. Stiles was in the middle of yet another story, gesturing wildly with the dish towel in one hand in between haphazard attempts at drying the plate held in the other. The smile on Noah’s face was patient and fond as he listened, offering the occasional question or gently teasing remark as he handed over the cleaned dishes. Peter absolutely did not find it the least bit cute or endearing. If anything he was far too busy being distracted by how well the long-sleeve burgundy tee clung to Noah’s shoulders and upper back, the edges of the pushed up sleeves hugging the bottom swell of his biceps in a most unfair manner, the color highlighting his tanned skin and fair hair. He was just moving on to idly considering what those warm, damp hands would feel like gliding over his own skin when Derek’s quiet voice broke his focus.

“I’m pretty sure that at least one of them will notice if you start licking the glass.”

Peter froze for a single, panicked instant, before smoothly turning a blandly nonchalant look up at the other wolf, denial oozing from every pore. “Oh, are you finally ready for the last pack?”

Derek silently tilted both eyebrows at him in yet another look of profound judgment (Peter would be annoyed with the frequency with which he triggered that reaction, if he didn’t know how often most others were graced with it as well), but didn’t force the issue, handing over the dead batteries when Peter calmly reached up. Finishing up with the last of the floodlights, Derek scooted the ladder over a couple of feet and traded his screwdriver for the paint scraper. The back end of a large Mag-Lite was thrust rather suddenly and forcibly at Peter’s face.

“Here, it’s starting to get dark. Shine this up at the window so you can seem like you’re being at least vaguely helpful.”

He sighed as he took the flashlight. “Why? It’s not as if you need it.”

“I know that. You know that. Stiles and his dad know that. Lena, however, does not know that, and I’d prefer not to be the reason she finds out. Would you?”

Peter considered being the focus of the wrath of both the Stilinski men at once. “Ugh. Fine. You realize she’ll likely have to know eventually, right?”

Derek shrugged as he started up the ladder again. “Not my call.”

With a sigh, Peter leaned back against the house, dropping the bucket beside him and angling the light vaguely upwards. Still safely out of easy view through the back door, he resumed his ~~ogling~~ observation, face tucked subtly into the jacket’s raised collar to better ~~breathe the scents~~ block the rising winds. By now the pair had finished the last of the pots and pans, and Noah had joined his son in drying and putting them away. Lost in idle, if vivid, appreciation of the view of Noah crouching to store some of the larger cookware in a lower cabinet, he was again startled by his nephew voluntarily breaking the quiet that had fallen around them.

“You know, if you light up his ass with a spotlight, he’s definitely going to start catching on.”

Snapping his gaze over, he saw Derek was back on the ground, one hand on the ladder and a deeply amused look on his face. The flashlight’s beam had fallen to some indistinct point between the bottom of the window and the top of the door, not really highlighting either in any meaningful way.

“I’m not sure where you’re getting these ridiculous ideas from, but it’s beginning to get somewhat tiresome.”

Derek just shook his head and held out a hand for the caulking gun. Peter slapped it into his palm with perhaps more force than he should have, given the unbothered appearance he was trying to maintain. Ah well. A faint smirk curled up one side of Derek’s mouth as he turned to climb back up to the window. Peter resumed his faux casual lean, noting mournfully that the kitchen was now deserted. With a faint sigh at the lost opportunity (and most _certainly_ no pouting), he glanced around the slowly darkening yard, taking in the abundant, well-tended flowers just beginning to awaken from their winter dormancy, and the lush, if somewhat overgrown, grass. Faint rustling off to his left eventually revealed itself to be a medium-sized rabbit, sneaking up to sniff at the tiny buds just beginning to form on the wild strawberry bush several feet away. An instinctive urge to growl welled up in his throat, but he managed to choke it back. He glanced up quickly to make sure Derek hadn’t noticed, then did a double-take when he saw what a truly awful job he was doing with the caulk.

“Dear god, what on earth are you doing up there?”

Derek heaved a deep breath, but to his mild surprise, replied with an impassive, “I would think that would be obvious.”

“The only thing that’s obvious is that you’ve no idea how to do that properly. Stiles had better coordination that time he was trying to write his name with spray cheese. Did we teach you nothing?”

“You’ve taught me quite a few things over the years, but I don’t recall ‘home repair’ being one of them, no,” was the flippant response.

“Just get down and let me do it. You’re meant to be making a good impression, not making her question her great-great-nephew’s choices.”

Derek rolled his eyes so hard Peter half-expected him to fall backwards off the ladder, but began climbing down just the same. He handed over the caulking gun and paint scraper with a mocking tilt to his head and voice.

“Don’t you remember? _I_ was never the one in question.”

Peter gave him a flat look as he passed him the flashlight and went around him to reach the ladder. When he finally got to the top he just stared for a moment at the hack job his nephew had managed, before shaking his head and scraping the whole mess back off. As he began applying the line of sealant, the _correct_ way, he was rather grateful for his enhanced eye sight, as the flashlight’s beam really only did help so much. When he was finished, he ran gentle fingers along the line to flatten and press it into place. Out of the corner of his eye he noticed the rather sorrowfully clogged state of some of the gutters, but decided it was really too dark at this point to do much about them. Reaching the bottom of the ladder, he found Derek leaning in his previous spot against the house, staring down at his phone and texting someone occasionally (probably his boyfriend.)

“Well, hopefully you were at least somewhat paying attention for when you have to seal the inside edges. If not, I suggest you have Stiles find you a YouTube how-to video before you try again.”

Derek just slipped his phone back into his pocket with an unimpressed look and held out the bucket for the rest of the tools. He then silently took off towards the shed- leaving Peter to get the ladder this time. With an eye roll of his own at his nephew’s maturity, he collapsed the ladder back to its stored height and followed after him. They got everything put away just as the sun fully and truly set, the winds becoming even more bitter as night closed in. With their naturally higher body temperatures, neither he nor Derek were particularly bothered by them yet, but it was still pleasant to finally get back inside the house, both of them heading over to wash their hands at the now empty sink. That done, they followed the sound of cheerfully arguing voices into the living room. Everyone having reclaimed their previous seats, Derek nimbly dodged Stiles’ wild gesticulating to sit next to him, draping an arm loosely around his shoulders. Peter (more reluctantly than he wished to let on) slid off his borrowed jacket and held it out to Noah, before dropping down beside him on the couch. He’d barely even gotten settled before a mug of steaming liquid was held out to him. Gingerly taking it, he gave it a sniff to find that it appeared to be some kind of mint blend tea. Looking over the loveseat, he saw that Derek now had one as well. He raised a questioning eyebrow at Noah.

“If Stiles and I can’t have any coffee this late due to ‘concerns about our caffeine consumption’, neither can you two,” was the soft, affectionately exasperated reply.

Taking a sip to hide the smile trying to tug at his lips, Peter glanced over to where Lena was firmly shaking her head at Stiles despite his increasingly insistent tone. Derek seemed just as amused, if vaguely lost, as he himself felt.

“Dare I ask what the current topic of discussion is?”

“Oh, Stiles is just expressing his disagreement with Lena’s movie choice. He doesn’t understand why we can’t just watch A New Hope. I blame _certain_ people’s dinner time commentary for instigating this, frankly.”

“Mmm. And what is our lovely hostess’ choice of film?” he asked, taking another sip of tea.

“Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan.”

Peter almost inhaled his next sip. How was he somehow not surprised by a choice like that in the slightest? Although, he’d always rather liked that one himself. He nodded thoughtfully.

“I approve.”

Noah quirked an eyebrow at him for a moment, then chuckled softly. “Of course you do. Charming, intelligent, ruthless, vengeful, superhuman villain with a fondness for showing off his cleavage? How did I not see it?” The resigned amusement and teasing affection in his tone warmed Peter more than the tea could ever hope to and brought a preening grin to his lips, and he had to sternly remind himself that most of it was an act for his great-aunt’s benefit (it didn’t matter if she wasn’t even paying attention right now, it was a truth he needed to keep firmly in mind.) Thankfully, before he had to collect himself for a response, Stiles’ strident plea broke in.

“Oh, my god, can you two stop being gross for two minutes and help me convince Lena she’s wrong?”

“Unfortunately, we both rather agree with her choice.”

The look of shocked betrayal on Stiles’ face did wonders to restore Peter’s equilibrium. Eventually the teen turned a dark look his way.

“I’m blaming you for being a terrible influence on him.” Peter just smirked in response and took another sip of tea. Lena finally held up both hands and raised her voice over the others.

“All right! Since we appear to have a majority, the voyages of the Starship Enterprise, it is.” So saying, she picked up a remote from the coffee table and hit ‘Play’. Stiles subsided with a huff, cuddling sulkily into his boyfriend. The rest ignored him with the ease of long practice, Lena kicking up the footrest of her recliner and Noah relaxing back into the couch cushions, hands clasped loosely across his middle. Peter debated for a while before mentally shrugging. _Fuck it_. He wedged an arm along the back of the couch, slipping it around Noah’s waist, and laid his head against his shoulder. He was damn well determined to stay awake to enjoy it this time, at least. They hadn’t made it half an hour in, Stiles engrossed and commenting despite his earlier complaints, when all the air seemed to stall in his lungs as Noah gently tilted his head to absently rub his cheek across the top of Peter’s head before going back to watching the film. Peter took a slow, calming breath, reminding himself sharply that there was no way that Noah could have been aware of the potential scenting overtones to that sort of gesture, whatever a small, secret part of him might wish. He did his best to focus back in on following along with what was admittedly one of the best entries in the film series. Although some parts hit a bit closer to home than he may have wished.

“You know, it never fully sat right with me that Carol wouldn’t let Kirk be part of David’s life,” Lena remarked thoughtfully. “Just because she disapproved of his job, basically. He deserved a chance to know his son, and David deserved to know his father.”

It took everything he had to keep his flinch purely internal. A part of him knew he’d never forgive Talia for taking those memories from him, no matter what her reasoning may have been (Alpha or not, she’d had _no right_.) While he’d certainly been at least aware in the abstract that she had the _capability_ to perform such a feat, on some very deep (very foolish) level, he hadn’t truly _believed_ his big sister would do something like that to him. But he knew the truth now (she’d taught him many inadvertent lessons), and he was...working on things. There was still a lot of awkwardness and mistrust (admittedly much of it his fault), but there were also tiny moments of progress, so maybe some day...

Peter hadn’t realized just how tense he’d gotten until he felt one of Noah’s hands drop down to the arm Peter had around him, tangling their fingers together and giving a gentle squeeze, thumb stroking soothingly along the side of his own. He took a couple of deep, careful breaths, feeling his muscles finally start to loosen, unconsciously nuzzling his cheek against Noah’s shoulder. A quick glance showed him that neither Lena nor Stiles had noticed anything, but Derek was side-eyeing him with something that might almost have been a touch of concern. Peter ignored him. There was only so much in the way of maudlin _feelings_ he was prepared to indulge in tonight, and he’d already far surpassed his personal limits. Finally succeeding in cramming everything back down where it belonged, he managed to enjoy the rest of the movie, in all its cheesily 80s glory. He even managed to forgo comment when he saw both Derek and Noah mouthing along with Spock’s speech from inside the reactor chamber. It wasn’t until the credits were rolling that the slightly solemn air that had fallen was broken. This time with a resignedly frustrated sigh from Lena.

“You know, I’m still slightly bitter that those three never got their shit together and hooked up.”

“LENA!” Stiles’ shocked cry almost echoed in the small room, his father and Peter both cackling loudly at her pronouncement. “Wait, like, Kirk, Spock, AND Bones?!” The look on his face was a mixture of horrified, intrigued, and horrified at BEING intrigued, and it was absolutely sending Peter.

“Why not? Infinite diversity in infinite combinations, and all that.” The grin on her face was bright and wicked. “Speaking of, I’d be tempted to make us watch Into Darkness now to compare and contrast, and also to appreciate all the exceptional eye candy, but I think it might be a bit late to start a film that long.”

Flicking his gaze down to his watch, Peter was startled to note that it was a bit after ten. They must have been outside rather longer than he’d thought. Noah stood to gather the empty mugs, fingers slipping out of Peter’s as he did. Peter just blinked in confusion for a moment at the sudden realization that they had apparently been holding hands for more than half the film’s runtime, and he hadn’t even noticed. This was perhaps getting a bit more out of hand (no pun intended) than he’d planned for. He’d have to be more careful from now on. Distantly he heard Noah reply to her suggestion as he headed into the kitchen.

“Given that I’m sure you’ve got more repairs planned for us tomorrow before the rehearsal dinner, I’m pretty certain it’s too late. Not all of us got to nap on the way here.”

Peter pulled himself back to the present to send a haughty glare towards the kitchen doorway just as Stiles made a noise of objection. Their obvious affront caused Lena to start snickering again, while Derek just shook his head in despair. With a soft throat clear, their hostess finally managed to get herself under control.

“Very well then. If you gentleman will excuse me, while it has been an absolute pleasure, I’m going to take myself off to bed.” She rose from her chair and headed towards a short hallway on the other side of the doorway. Pausing at the head of it, she turned back to glance between her ‘nephews’. “I trust you two can help your beaus find their way around?”

“Sure thing. Peter, you know where the shed is. Derek, follow me.” Stiles bounced up off the loveseat and bounded towards the stairs.

“Stiles!” his father called reprovingly as he returned to the living room. He pinched the bridge of his nose and shook his head for a moment before visibly shrugging it away. When he looked over at Peter, his expression was back to fondly teasing again. “C’mon, I’ll show you where our room is. I might even let you have the first turn at the shower,” he added with a wink before starting up the stairs.

As he rose to follow him, Peter felt a sudden, sharp sense of dismay at the reminder that they would being sharing a room, and, he assumed, a bed this weekend. It hadn’t really been a matter of much concern at the time. But now… now he was fairly certain he was roundly fucked. He felt his eyes drifting down to Noah’s ass and along the flexing muscles of his thighs as he followed him up the stairs. Yes, he was definitely, _definitely_ fucked. Just not in any of the ways he’d prefer. _Fuck_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please excuse any inaccuracies re: home repair. I am relatively capable when the situation calls for it, but not particularly knowledgeable. I did a bit of research, but I hope you'll allow a bit of artistic license. Especially since there will probably be more of it in a future chapter '>.> Oh, well.
> 
> I picked Star Trek II almost completely at random, started reading through the synopsis to remind myself of the major plot points because it had been a while, and realized that it was a shockingly excellent choice. I am now fully convinced that Peter dressed as Khan for at least one Halloween at some point (also as Sexy Ian Malcolm, and Lucian from Underworld. What can I say? He has a type. XD )
> 
> Also, I deliberately left it vague who Peter's long-lost child is. I have a number of varied opinions on the subject, and didn't want things to get _too_ heavy in this story, so I just avoided naming names. Hopefully it doesn't come off too weird?
> 
> Next up: Time for some Only One Bed MF'ers!
> 
> As always, I'd love to hear what you think, as well as any suggestions you may have to consider. :D


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alrighty, here we go again! Sorry for the unplanned delay, my sinuses have begun their annual assault on my energy and focus reserves, and while I'm holding steady against them, my speeds are greatly reduced. '>.>
> 
> This go round I tackle the time-honored fanfic tradition of Only One Bed for the first time, with a side of Pining and the occasional slight dip into Angst (sorry. ;D ) Please enjoy!

Peter was pulled from his faintly morose thoughts when he heard Noah begin talking, snapping his eyes quickly away from areas they probably shouldn’t be lingering. Even if they were just right there. In front of his face. No, wait, talking. He wrenched his mind back into proper focus.

“...we’re in the room Lena had built on with an eye towards renting it out at some point,” Noah was explaining as they hit the upper floor (which did wonders for Peter’s distraction.) “The upshot of which is that it has it’s own bathroom. The downside of which is that it tends to be even colder than the rest of the house.” So saying, he turned a handle at one end of the hall, and led them into a room that felt a few degrees above a walk-in freezer, to Peter at least.

“Well, you certainly weren’t kidding were you? I think I can actually see my breath in the air.”

“Yeah, sorry about that. I was expecting it to be colder because we’re above the garage, but apparently the heat on this end is on the fritz as well, and the heating company can’t make it out until Monday.”

“I don’t suppose there’s any chance of a space heater or heated blanket of any kind?”

Noah shook his head regretfully. “Unfortunately no, she had a friend who, uh, had a really bad accident with one, so she doesn’t quite trust them anymore.”

Peter could well imagine what sort of ‘accident’ was most likely to occur with such a device, and was somewhat irritated with himself at finding the other man’s (glaringly) obvious attempt at tact charmingly sweet, if ultimately unnecessary. Before he could say anything, however, Noah continued.

“I was going to try and find a hot water bottle or something earlier, but I forgot. But if you want the first shower there should be plenty of hot water still.”

“Somehow the idea of returning to this room while damp after having gotten warm seems a rather unnecessary form of self-torture. I’ll just shower in the morning.”

Noah shrugged. “Suit yourself. You can still have the first turn in there while I get my stuff together if you want.”

Peter nodded in thanks, snagging his toiletry kit and slipping into the en suite to wash his face and brush his teeth, while ignoring the décor as thoroughly as possible. Though he was at least grateful for the surprisingly decent amount of counter space on offer. He returned to the chilly bedroom, brushing past Noah, who was leaning against the wall by the door as he waited. Digging through his bag for the pajamas he’d brought, he heard the door latch and the water turn on, and made it a point to very much NOT THINK ABOUT the fact that Noah was probably getting naked on the other side of the (very thin, very fragile) wooden door. That way lay madness, and a houseful of angry relatives.

He swiftly changed clothes, putting his supernatural reflexes to good use, though he was left wishing he’d brought something a bit more substantial than thin cotton pants and a short-sleeved top. In his own defense if it had just been ‘cold’ these clothes would have been perfectly reasonable. This was not just cold, however, and even his naturally higher body temperature was having some issue keeping up. Plugging his phone in to charge, he slid beneath the layered blankets and tried to ignore how little they were helping at the moment. Shifting over to the middle of the bed, he grabbed the remote to the small TV sitting against the far wall and started absently flicking through the channels as he waited for the sheets to thaw a bit. Nothing particularly caught his eye, however, so he finally just switched it off and tossed the remote onto the nightstand next to his phone.

Looking around the room, he could see how it might appeal to a student as a rental. It was spacious enough to fit a decently sized desk in one corner, as well as a small sitting area by the TV (if one could call a tiny loveseat and an extra desk chair such.) The queen size bed was certainly a step-up from the awkwardly long twins most dorm rooms offered, and theoretically would allow for the occasional overnight visitor, as long as they didn’t mind getting cozy (although that was also in the realm of things he was very determinedly NOT THINKING ABOUT RIGHT NOW.) To further distract himself from any dangerous thoughts, and to keep from contemplating the mismatched décor and brightly floral sheets, he reached for his phone, grateful for the lengthy charging cable he’d brought, and tried to lose himself in a mindless puzzle game.

Despite the lingering tingles in his fingers from the chill, he’d managed to make it through a fair few levels when the bathroom door finally opened to emit a swirling burst of steam bearing the familiar woodsy scent of Noah’s body wash. The man himself followed swiftly, now clad in a worn US Army sweatshirt and flannel pajama pants (Peter absolutely did not feel a faint shiver of jealousy for how warm they looked.) He tossed a raised eyebrow Peter’s way as he carried his clothes over to his bag.

“You realize you’re going to have to pick one side or the other, right? I don’t care if you’re a guest, you don’t get two-thirds of the bed.”

“I was simply waiting to find out if you had a preference on the matter or not.”

Noah shrugged lightly. “Nah, doesn’t really matter to me. It’s been too many years since I regularly shared a bed to care much anymore.”

Peter nodded softly as he glanced back down at his phone. “Ah well. I guess that’s a valid point.” He scooted back over towards the side he’d originally been on as Noah walked back over to the bed. He eyed Peter’s attire skeptically.

“Are you sure you’re going to be warm enough in that? It’s gonna stay pretty chilly in here.”

“I guess I'll have to be won’t I, since this was all I brought.” His tone was more waspish than he intended, and quite possibly just a touch petulant.

Noah sent him a fondly exasperated look. “I told you it would be cold.”

“You did indeed tell me that, and if the room were just cold, these would be perfectly adequate. This, however, is not just ‘cold’. This is borderline arctic.” Tossing his phone aside again, he rubbed his hands up and down the exposed skin of his arms in an attempt to dispel the goosebumps that had sprung up as he’d waited for the other man to finish his shower.

There was a moment of silence as Noah watched his efforts. He shook his head with a resigned sigh.

“Luckily for you I brought extra just in case.” Without any sort of warning whatsoever, he stripped off his sweatshirt and lobbed it at Peter’s head. Thoroughly distracted by the copious amounts of skin suddenly and unexpectedly on display, the wolf caught it full in the face and had to resist an almost overwhelming urge to shred it with his claws for blocking his view.

“Here, that’ll probably be warmer than anything in my bag at this point. Sorry if it’s still a little damp.”

Peter yanked it on so quickly he was shocked he didn’t hear a seam pop, gaze riveted to the unprecedented sight he was being afforded. The feel of the skin-warm fabric soothing his shivers as another cloud of scent wafted up threatened to bring a whine to his throat. He choked it down, concentrating on the tantalizing glimpses of curling scars and lightly tanned skin and those damned ridiculous arms that he wanted around him ( _now_ , _tomorrow_ , **_always_** ) as Noah walked back over to the bed, shrugging on the heavyweight henley he’d pulled from his duffel bag. Noah shivered minutely at the touch of the cool fabric as he finished tugging it into place.

“That help any?”

The question startled Peter into a sincere reply. “Very much so, thank you.”

Noah’s smile was wry. “Sorry if it doesn’t quite fit your usual ‘sartorial standards’, but it should be plenty comfortable, at least.” He pulled his phone from a pocket and plugged it in to charge on his own side before climbing into the bed. Peter felt an (affectionately) mocking smirk stretching his lips.

“Well, I suppose in this instance allowances can be made. It seems only polite to overlook such things when given the literal shirt off someone’s back, after all. And I would certainly hate to disparage our fine-looking service-people in uniform.”

“...uh-huh.” The intensity of the side-eye he received for his remarks was almost palpable in the otherwise still room.

“Are you questioning my sincerity?” A single eyebrow winged up to accompany the smirk.

“Oh, I would never do such a thing. I’m a little hurt that you would even suggest it.” Noah’s smile was bordering on a full-blown grin at this point.

“That was most assuredly not my intention, please accept my deepest apologies.”

“An apology from Peter Hale? I’d be even more of a fool than normal not to accept such an offer.”

Peter could feel himself leaning instinctively towards that widening smile, those sparkling eyes, and forced his gaze down to his lap, tugging the ends of his sleeves over his hands to try and bring full sensation back to his fingertips. (He was still leaning into Noah’s personal space, but at least this way he could _pretend_.)

“So, will I need to set an alarm for any particular time tomorrow? Since I suspect we’ll be conscripted into more chores before the morning’s over?”

“Eh, not really, as long as you weren’t planning to sleep until like, eleven, or something. Most of us will probably be up somewhere between eight and nine, going off previous experience.”

“Hmm, well I _suppose_ I can manage that. You’ll owe me, however.”

“I’ll add it to the tab.” His tone was dry, but that brightly boyish smile was causing a weird, bubbling pressure in Peter’s chest that was annoyingly pleasant in ways he still wasn’t entirely certain how to properly process. Especially at this close of a distance. He could feel himself on the verge of doing something incredibly stupid, and it was taking far more of his (admittedly formidable at times) self-control to restrain himself than it had any right to.

Soft knocking at their bedroom door had him alternately embracing the much needed chance at a distraction, while cursing himself for being so caught up in these stupid and unsought _FEELINGS_ that he hadn’t heard anyone approaching. Noah jolted slightly, shifting away from Peter and calling for their visitor to come in. The door cracked open and Lena poked her head inside.

“I just wanted to check that you two were doing okay in here. It wasn’t supposed to get quite so frigid this weekend, and I feel just terrible about making you all deal with this.”

They sent her reassuring smiles almost in unison, though Noah was the first to speak. “We’re doing absolutely fine. It’s not a problem at all.”

“This is far from the coldest place I’ve ever slept,” Peter added. She gave him a bit of a skeptical look at this, but it was the truth. He didn’t think explaining that he was referring to a grave would go over well, however. (Sometimes it felt like that particular sensation of bone-deep cold would never fade away entirely, but he suspected that was something more psychological in nature than anything else.)

Noah’s hand came over and began absently rubbing up and down the back of his shoulder and arm as he continued to try and reassure his ‘aunt’. “It really is okay, I promise.”

“Well, if you’re both sure…,”she tentatively agreed. “Oh! You should probably let the faucet and shower drip just a little in case the pipes try to freeze.”

“You’re right, I didn’t even think of that,” Noah said with a startled blink. “We’ll take care of it, don’t worry.”

“Alright, I guess I’ll head back downstairs then.” She sent them an exaggeratedly impish wink. “Stay warm, you two.” With that parting sally, the door finally closed again, and Peter heard her shuffling quietly down the hall.

“She’s right about the pipes. Are you gonna be able to sleep with them dripping so close, or should I see if Stiles brought his noise-canceling headphones?” Noah sent him a small wink that was somehow still almost as mischievous as Lena’s had been. “I promise I won’t tell him they’re for you. I’ll just say it’s to drown out the snoring.”

Peter sent him a narrow-eyed glare, but chose not to rise to the bait. This time. “I’ll be fine, thanks. It certainly can’t be any worse than the endless beeping and hissing of the hospital monitors.”

With a humorless chuckle, Noah ran a hand along the back of his neck as he stared off into the blank middle distance of memory. “That is, as you said, a valid point.” Visibly bracing himself against the cold, he threw back the blankets and stood. “Well then, I’ll go take care of that. I have no desire to attempt any plumbing work this weekend.” Pulling the blankets back up around Peter to minimize any heat loss, he strode quickly into the bathroom.

He returned even sooner than Peter anticipated, diving back into the bed with as much speed as possible while still maintaining a certain dignity (if only barely.) Glancing around in slight confusion, he finally appeared to spot the object of his search on Peter’s nightstand. He shook his head ruefully. “I should have known. I take it there was nothing on worth watching?”

Peter’s gaze darted briefly to the remote as he shrugged. “Not really.” With a deep breath, he steeled himself to address some potential issues that he had yet to bring up. He didn’t particularly want to (he was well aware of his own dislike of any sign of vulnerability), but Noah deserved to know in case any of them were to come up. “Just… so that you’re aware… I should warn you that I’m not always... the deepest sleeper. I… can get a bit restless on occasion as well. I’ll try and keep it down if I’m forced to get up for a while.” He attempted to inject some lightness into his tone. “And if my movements get to be a bit too much to handle, feel free to just shove me off the side of the bed. I promise to do my best not to hold it against you.”

He started slightly when Noah’s shoulder nudged lightly against his own. “That’s fine, I don’t mind. I’m not always the best sleeper myself.” The look he sent Peter was not only completely free of judgment, but gentle and full of a level of understanding that Peter was in no way emotionally prepared to deal with right now. “If you need to turn on the TV at any point, that’s fine, too. It won’t bother me any. You don’t even to get out of bed if you don’t want to, especially with the temperature like it is. Stiles used to climb in bed with me to watch infomercials half the night for a long time after Claudia died.” He huffed another humorless laugh and gave a one-shouldered shrug. “And again for a while after the whole thing with the Oni. So, I’m pretty used to it at this point.” Unsure exactly what to say in response, Peter just nodded softly. After a bit of an awkward silence, he finally cleared his throat.

“Well, I suppose we should try to get to sleep at some point. Especially if tomorrow is to be as busy a day as it seems.” When Noah murmured a quiet agreement, Peter flicked off the bedside lamp and slid fully under the mound of blankets (which was thankfully warmer than it had been at first.) Tugging them up over his shoulder as he rolled onto his side away from the other man, he listened to the rustling noises as Noah did the same. He twitched slightly when he heard Noah’s voice in the darkened room.

“Good night, Peter.”

“...Good night, Noah.”

Silence reigned for a while. Well, comparative silence. Peter could still hear the dripping from the bathroom (though fainter than he might have expected), as well as Noah’s familiar heartbeat and slowly evening breath as he slipped into slumber, and beyond that, the slow, steady heartbeats of the house’s other three inhabitants. He tucked his face down into the collar of his borrowed sweatshirt, letting the delightful blend of their scents help to soothe his lingering agitation. Combined with the line of gentle heat he could feel along his back due to Noah’s mattress-enforced proximity, he felt himself drifting off much more quickly and easily than normal. He hoped it was a good sign.

With a sudden harsh gasp, Peter shot upright in the bed, eyes flaring and claws just barely contained. He flexed his fingers and shifted his legs restlessly, just to remind himself that he could. He _hated_ those dreams, from back when he was only first starting to wake up in the hospital. Able to hear, sometimes able to see, but never able to _move_. The shifting wasn’t enough after a while, and he slid out of bed as quietly as he could to pace through the icy room. The chill actually seemed to help snap him out of his dreamy fog a bit. He heard the faint change in Noah’s heartbeat and breathing before he heard his voice, still hazy with sleep.

“Peter? Everything okay?”

“I’m fine.” ( _Now,_ a very small part of him thought.) “Just a bit restless. You can go back to sleep, it’s nothing to worry about.” Peter put as much nonchalance into his tone as he could manage, surprised to find that it was truer than he might have guessed. He _was_ feeling far better, far more quickly than he usually did. He supposed that the broken heater must be useful for something, after all.

“okay…” the reply was so low that the wolf wasn’t sure he’d have heard it if not for his enhanced hearing. It trailed off into the steady, even breaths of before, signaling that Noah had apparently taken him at his word (which was something else he was still getting used to.)

Peter walked a couple more loose circuits of the room, unconsciously coming closer to the bed each time. The rhythmic inhale-exhale of Noah’s breathing was almost hypnotic, drawing him in like the cycling flashes of a lighthouse drew weary sailors home. (He was grateful for the lack of foghorn-esque snores, however, as much fun as it would be to tease the other man.) When the glacial state of the room finally got to be more than he’d prefer to endure, he slipped back into bed even more gingerly than he’d slipped out. He crept up as close to Noah’s sleeping form as he could without actually touching him, soaking up the delicious warmth he was radiating. Slowly, _achingly_ slowly, he tilted forward to rest his forehead against the nape of Noah’s neck, freezing until he was certain he hadn’t woken him. When no reaction was forthcoming, Peter gradually let his muscles relax, one hand coming up to sneakily twist into the bottom hem of Noah’s shirt, feeling the fuzzy, faux fur lining brush softly against his fingertips. He concentrated on matching Noah’s breath pattern, filling his lungs with his comforting scent and letting the steady thudding of his heart drown out all the ambient noises, and let the gentle rhythms eventually pull him back into a deep slumber.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aren't they just precious? XD Whatever will the morning bring? Guess we'll just have to wait and see. (I'm doing my best to get stuff down and edited, but work is eating up most of my energy right now. :/ )
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this chapter! Please feel free to let me know, either way! :D Thank you everyone for all your wonderful comments so far, they mean so much more than I can adequately express!


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we're back! Time for awkward awakenings, lots of family ~~squabbling~~ bonding, more food, so much oblivious flirting, and a very bad morning overall for poor Stiles. Please enjoy! ;D

Peter drifted slowly back into consciousness, the sounds of morning songbirds and a slowly rousing household penetrating his sleepy haze. He felt a momentary confusion at the unexpected sensation of movement, and blinked his eyes open in an attempt to assess his surroundings. This proved less useful than he would have hoped, as the only sight that met his gaze was the curve of Noah’s shoulder and neck, edged along one side with faded blue cotton. He came to the gradual realization that they must have shifted at some point during the night; Noah sprawling forward onto his stomach, and Peter getting pulled along in the process. As a result, he now found himself draped across that solid back, riding the wave-like motions of his breaths, face smushed half under the collar of his shirt. His fingers were still tangled in the bottom of Noah’s shirt, knuckles lightly brushing warm skin that felt just as soft as the skin beneath his lips. Still only half awake, Peter attempted to bury his face even further into Noah’s collar, trying to hide from reality’s call for just a little bit longer.

When he found himself just barely able to control the urge to actually _taste_ the skin his face was pressing into, he conceded that it was perhaps time to move. Accidental cuddling was one thing, licking would be much harder to explain away if Noah awoke at an inopportune moment. Also, Peter was fairly sure that sort of thing would be considered creepy between two people who weren’t romantically involved (unfortunately.) With extreme, almost bone-deep reluctance, Peter relinquished his hiding spot. He oozed slowly back over to his side of the bed and grabbed his phone to check the time, blinking at it in shock for several seconds when he saw that it was nearly a quarter to nine. It had been barely past two when he’d woken from his nightmare, probably not even two-thirty when he’d gotten back into bed. He’d almost forgotten what it was like to sleep for that long at a stretch ( _don’t think about why it happened now_ , don’t think about why, DON’T THINK ABOUT WHY.) With a firm mental shake to keep his mind from going places it had absolutely no business going, he slid gently from beneath the covers and stood, doing his utmost to keep from waking his bedmate.

Luck seemed to be with him as Noah never so much as twitched as Peter rose and headed quietly towards the en suite. He just barely kept a hiss behind his teeth as he was rather forcibly reminded of the heating issue. Slipping into the bathroom, he paused for a moment in confusion. Both the sink and the shower had folded washcloths laying in them, partially covering the drains and seemingly deliberately placed. As he watched, small droplets fell from both faucets, only to land on the cloths, muffling the echoing noise that usually accompanied dripping water. That strange, free-falling pressure reared up in Peter’s chest again as he realized that Noah must have done that to reduce the chance of it disturbing him last night. God, he would very much appreciate it if the other man would _STOP_ being so damned considerate all the time. It was playing merry hell with the wolf’s equilibrium, and he was becoming less and less able to handle it in a logical manner.

Making quick use of the facilities, he went ahead and washed his face and brushed his teeth in an attempt to further jump-start his still oddly sluggish and wayward thoughts, but decided to postpone his shower until after breakfast. He wasn’t certain he quite trusted himself to strip down with Noah only a room away without something embarrassing happening. (He very much needed to get a grip. If only he could just figure out how.) Slinking back through the nearly silent bedroom, he fled with as much outward calm as he could muster down the hall, following the scent of fresh coffee and cooking eggs. By the time he descended the stairs, his usual aura of smug cockiness had been wrestled firmly back into place. When he finally reached the kitchen, Peter found Stiles hovering torpidly over a steaming mug while Lena flitted around the stove. His brief offer of assistance was cheerfully waved away, so he helped himself to some of the coffee and joined Stiles at the table. He sipped at the surprisingly decent brew as the teen tilted his head and blinked owlishly at him.

“Why are you wearing my dad’s clothes? There’s no way you didn’t bring your own.” The tone was abrupt and almost querulous.

Lena snorted softly. “Careful about asking questions you may not actually want the answers to, dear. Do you never wear anything of Derek’s?”

Stiles looked momentarily even more confused, before understanding flashed by in a look of horrified disgust. For his part, Peter simply gave him his most shit-eating grin as he continued to sip at his coffee. Finally Stiles very firmly shook his head and flailed one hand in a dismissive gesture.

“Nope. Nope, it’s too early for this. Just, nope.”

Derek walked in on the tail end of this, almost as if Lena had inadvertently summoned him, the first of the household to have actually bothered to get dressed for the day so far. He raised a single eyebrow in Stiles’ direction, before gaining himself the same brush-off from their hostess. His nephew _was_ allowed to pour himself a cup of tea from the pot sitting near her on the counter, however. Beverage secured, he joined the two of them, completely unfazed when Stiles flopped over to snuggle into him with a discontented noise.

“De-e-e-r-e-e-k, your uncle is being creepy again. Make him stop, it’s too early.”

Both Derek and Peter managed to roll their eyes in unison, with near identical unimpressed looks. Lena looked seconds from laughter again.

“Stiles, I haven’t even SAID anything this morning. How on earth is drinking my coffee ‘being creepy’?”

“Natural talent?”

A small smile was twitching at Derek’s lips again. “You’ll be fine, Stiles, just ignore him.”

“Does that actually work?”

“I find it at least helps, most of the time.”

Peter gave a dismissive sniff, turning slightly from both of them as Lena finally lost the battle with her giggles. In a show of absolutely impeccable timing, that was when Noah finally decided to join them, giving the room a suspicious once-over as he joined Lena at the stove. He appeared to be the only one given the okay to help, as she pressed a tray bearing a pair of large round loaves into his hands to bring to the table. Peter noticed he also was dressed for the day, if ratty, paint-splattered jeans and an ancient Ziggy Stardust t-shirt so faded that Bowie’s face resembled nothing so much as an afterimage could be considered such. He had a rather sinking feeling about what all the day was going to entail. The suspicious look remained even after Noah reached the table and sat down his load.

“Do I even want to know?”

“Your son and his boyfriend have decided to gang up on me this morning,” Peter offered, with a very intentional and over-the-top pout.

“Mmm. Did you deserve it this time?”

The pout became even more pronounced. Noah’s gaze kept flickering down to it almost reluctantly. “Rude. I’ve barely said five words to them. All I’ve done is drink coffee and get insulted.”

“Well, that’s unfortunate,” Noah said with a chuckle, dropping another quick kiss to the top of Peter’s messy hair and scratching lightly between his shoulders. Peter practically purred at the attention as Noah turned a raised eyebrow on the pair across the table. “Here I was pretty sure we’d had a _talk_ about that sort of thing, didn’t we, son?”

Stiles sent both of them a mulish glare. “You know, I’m kinda hurt that you’re automatically taking his side here. I _am_ your kid, after all.”

“Are you saying you’ve never taken Derek’s side over mine?”

"Yeah, but that’s different because-” Stiles cut himself off abruptly, apparently realizing he was about to give away far more than he planned.

“Because…?” Noah trailed off leadingly, staring his son down.

“Yes, Stiles, please do explain,” Peter added in the sweetest voice he could dredge up.

“Be nice,” Noah murmured, reaching up to tug sharply at a lock of Peter’s hair before going back to his scritching. It certainly got the result he wanted, if not quite how he intended, as the wolf felt a jolt of lust shoot down his spine, thoroughly distracting him. He jammed the sensation down, though not quite quickly enough to sneak it past Derek, if his nephew’s expression was anything to go by. Peter ignored him, focusing on calming his body's reaction.

“I suppose if you insist.” He was proud of how coolly sarcastic his voice came out.

“I do, in fact, insist. I live in the perpetual hope of one day having a peaceful, uneventful meal with you two.”

Lena joined them at the table, setting down a heaping platter of bacon. All four men immediately fell silent, distracted by the bountiful pile of deliciousness. She shook her head at the lot of them.

“Noah, dearest, I haven’t even had two full meals with you all, yet, and I can already tell you that’s a vain hope.”

“Oh, I know, but that’s not gonna stop me.”

He picked up the bread knife from the tray and began slicing the loaves he’d brought over. Peter was pleasantly surprised to find that they were actually some sort of breakfast quiche, baked into the loaves like a bread bowl. He’d been idly wondering about the scent of eggs and sauteed vegetables that had been lingering in the air with no clear source, but had gotten rather distracted by their discussion (and perhaps just a bit by all the touching. But then, who could blame him, really?) As Noah began serving out the quiche, Peter realized that he was the only one who hadn’t gotten any coffee yet, so he slipped into the kitchen to grab him a cup, refilling his own in the process. Noticing the teapot still sitting on the counter, he managed to snag it as well, carrying the lot back over to the table with him. It garnered him warm smiles and thanks from both Lena and Noah, a suspicious eyebrow raise from Derek, and narrow-eyed sulking from Stiles, so all in all he considered it a job well done. The wolf was practically preening as he reclaimed his seat and dug into his wonderfully decadent breakfast.

“So Lena, what was it you needed Derek and Peter to work on outside today?”

He should have known Stiles would find a way to spoil things. Vengeful little shit. (Why did he feel obscurely proud?) Although this particular attack seemed to be backfiring in unexpected ways as Derek just heaved a sigh and put down his fork.

“You couldn’t even let me enjoy one meal?”

Stiles looked so immediately regretful that it took concentrated effort on Peter’s part not to outwardly express any of his extreme amusement. Especially when Noah decided to put in his two cents.

“I notice you don’t seem to be including yourself in that question, Stiles. Is there a reason you suddenly can’t help with any of the outside chores?”

Not even trying to contain her gleeful smile, Lena intervened before the teen could dig himself in any deeper. “In the interest of temporary family peace, what’s say we table that discussion until we’re done eating?”

In the wake of this completely reasonable request, Stiles rolled his eyes, but made no further comment, and Noah just shrugged and grabbed a couple more pieces of bacon. The two Hales just blinked at each other in startled confusion (and, perhaps, the slightest touch of guilt on Peter’s side) at apparently already being considered part of the ‘family’. It wasn’t a sensation either was particularly used to anymore. Especially when it was thrown out so casually and unquestioningly. Almost as one they both cleared their throats and looked away, staring down into their plates as though they held the answers to the universe. Peter felt the softest brush of Noah’s foot against his own, helping to break him out of his swiftly darkening thoughts. Settling back in his chair, he saw Stiles reaching to pour Derek some more tea in a similar effort, Derek giving him a tiny smile of thanks in return. As much as he generally abhorred sentiment, he did have to admit that the two of them had been very good for each other so far. The rest of their meal passed in relative quiet, all things considered, and soon enough they were all gathering up the empty plates and tableware. Derek spoke up with a glance at Lena.

“Stiles and I can get these if you’d like.”

“How about I help you so these three can get ready, instead?” Noah chimed in before she could answer. “If you’re okay with that?”

“Sure, I don’t mind.”

“I must say, I do enjoy having all this help around here.” Lena beamed happily at all of them as she headed for the doorway. “Well then, if you kids will excuse me.” As soon as she was out of view, Stiles hopped up and ran over to the doorway. Once he was sure she was far enough away, he rounded on Peter with a calculating glare.

“I’m gonna use up all the hot water so you don’t get any!” With this parting threat, he rushed from the room and they heard him thundering up the stairs towards the bathroom.

Noah tilted his head consideringly as he addressed the room at large. “He DOES realize our bathroom is attached to it’s own hot water heater, right?”

“I’m… guessing apparently not,” Peter replied, finishing the last of his coffee and standing. “I do believe I’ll go have myself a nice, long, pleasantly hot shower to finish out the morning.”

“Don’t make it _too_ long. You aren’t getting out of helping out that easily.”

Peter didn’t even try to wrangle his expression into anything the least bit innocent. “Why, whatever are you trying to imply, Sheriff? I’m appalled that you think I’d resort to such underhanded tactics.”

“Uh-huh. Just remember; the garden hose is a good hundred feet long, and the water in it is likely to be much colder than what’s coming out of the shower.”

The intensity of his responding glare was somewhat curtailed by the almost unprecedented sight of his nephew snorting tea out of his nose. “You had best be joking.”

“Stiles tried that once when he was fifteen. He can assure you I’m not.”

That was apparently the last straw for Derek, who buried his face in his hands, shoulders shaking. Peter would have liked to continue the discussion, but the teasingly yet implacably assertive look on Noah’s face was causing tingling reactions throughout his system that he was fairly certain neither man in the room would appreciate being made aware of, so he turned with a sniff and headed for the stairs. When he got back to the bedroom, he dug through his bag trying to find a shirt he wouldn’t mind getting messed up. He finally settled on an older, long-sleeved, sky blue v-neck that was already showing a little wear, but was too comfortable to quite get rid of yet. Gathering up his things he hurried into the bathroom to get the shower going so that it might help heat the room, searching out the towels and poking nosily through the cabinets while he waited. Once the room had filled with steam and the glass walls of the shower stall were no longer cold to the touch, he stripped down and slipped inside, taking a few minutes to just luxuriate in the feel of the warm spray against his skin. Eventually, slightly more wary of Noah’s threat than he might care to admit, he set about actually getting cleaned up. As he bathed, he reflected that perhaps invoking the other man had not been among his best ideas, as his mind kept trying to flood with memories of the feel of Noah beneath him as they slept, the teasing glint in his eyes and the curve of his smile, and the endless, _endless_ gentle touches that made Peter’s skin itch in the most delightful, confusing, overwhelming ways. He felt his hands start to drift to places they really didn’t need to be when he couldn’t afford to properly indulge his increasingly lewd thoughts the way he’d really prefer. Normally he wouldn’t particularly care, but this situation had a much greater potential for awkwardness than most. In a fit of desperation, he finally twisted the shower dial viciously back over to the ‘cold’ side, hitting himself with a frigid blast of water that did wonders to clear his head and… reduce other issues. It at least let him finish his shower and start drying off in relative peace.

He briskly toweled at his head, digging out the little travel hair dryer he’d brought along, hoping to at least get rid of as much of the dampness as possible before venturing outside. Ignoring the roar of the dryer as best he could, he absently noticed that his hair was starting to get long again, the ends beginning to take on a soft curl. Once it (and he) was as dry as it was likely to get, he swiftly dressed, deciding not to worry about styling it or shaving right now. He most assuredly planned on cleaning up again before they went to the rehearsal dinner tonight. Hanging his towel over the shower wall to dry and carrying his discarded clothes back to the bedroom, Peter hurried back downstairs (lest anyone accuse him of deliberately delaying.) He ducked into the kitchen, heading for the back door, only to almost run face first into Noah’s crotch as he found the other man up on a chair replacing the room’s light fixture. Peter briefly wondered just who he’d angered to deserve this sort of torment, then decided that that was not a particularly productive line of inquiry and went back to enjoying the sights instead. With both of Noah’s arms raised over his head and lifting the edge of his shirt, and the slightly loose, well worn nature of his jeans, Peter was getting an excellent view of the way the mottled line of scar tissue from his run-in with the chimeras twisted angrily along one side of his abdomen, in stark contrast to the teasing glimpse of the gilded line of his treasure trail. It was also very clear that even the additional combat training sessions Noshiko was insisting on for all the human pack parents weren’t quite able to outpace Noah’s love of fast food, a layer of cozy-looking softness around his middle still cushioning the solid muscles beneath. Rather vividly remembering the feel of skin-to-skin contact from this morning, the wolf had the wildest urge to cuddle his face into that softness and just breath for a while. Thankfully his focus was broken by the soft clearing of a throat from above him, and he blinked somewhat dazedly upwards.

“Earth to Peter. Everything okay?”

He could feel Noah’s gaze on the top of his head, but assumed it was simply a matter of their current height difference, and the other man quickly seemed to catch on to the subject of Peter’s scrutiny, dropping his arms and firmly tugging his shirt back down, crossing an arm self-consciously across his torso. Peter ached to tell him all the reasons that was completely unnecessary (he really had quite a few), but none of them felt appropriate to the current state of their relationship (or to keeping his own complicated feelings about possibly changing that state concealed.) Instead he simply ignored the whole, faintly awkward, situation, affecting his usual insouciance.

“Absolutely wonderful. I always enjoy being dragged along on trips as surprise day labor.”

The grin that provoked was ridiculously boyish, and hit Peter like a punch to the chest. “Couldn’t take the risk of you backing out if I’d warned you. What’s that saying? Sorry, not sorry?”

Rolling his eyes (and wasn’t that likely quite a weird sight from the other man’s current elevation), Peter determinedly tried to pretend that his smirk wasn’t actually a smile. “Shall I presume everyone else is outside at this point, awaiting further assistance?”

“Derek and Lena are, but you’ve managed to beat Stiles back downstairs. I’d rather not consider why, frankly.”

“Perhaps he’s simply still trying to make good on his hot water threat. Should I wait five minutes before I bring in the hose, or are you feeling generous and would rather I wait ten?”

“Oh, no, you don’t need to worry about that. I already warned him that the next time it happens I’m sending Lena in with the hose.”

“Oh, now that is EVIL.” Peter sent an absolutely delighted smile upwards as he began backing reluctantly towards the door. “Color me impressed, Sheriff.”

Noah winked at him before going back to his electrical work. “I have my moments.”

“So I’m learning.” With that parting shot, Peter escaped out to the patio to see what unpleasant task awaited him this time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed this chapter! Sorry for not getting more risque with the shower scene, but I do feel like this is one time where Peter would actually be concerned about getting caught (and I'm still not 100% where the line is on a T rating.)
> 
> Also, sorry for any inaccuracies re: Noah's injury. That was from after I stopped watching the show, and both the TW wiki and IMDb were annoyingly unhelpful with trying to find out anything in any detail. So I mostly just made it up.
> 
> I swear they will eventually get to the rehearsal dinner. (and the wedding. and...yeah.) It's just that every time I think I'm about to advance the plot suddenly everyone is talking and several hundred words have passed again. '>.>
> 
> Comments and suggestions still very much welcome! :D


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OH MY GOOOODDDD!!! I'm SO SORRY this took so long to get out! Real Life reared it's intrusive head in a number of ways this month, then my brain got temporarily derailed by a Valentine's fic, all while the weather was going nuts. But I made a pact with myself to try and get a new chapter out by my birthday, which is today, so I just barely made it, but I made it! Huzzah! And I think this chapter might be slightly longer than normal, so, bonus!
> 
> After some unplanned delay, please enjoy a last round of home repair shenanigans, quasi-family bonding, and oh-god-how-are-they-this-oblivious flirting. ;D

Peter sighed as he scooped up another handful of damp, half-decayed leaves, deeply grateful for the heavy-duty rubberized work gloves he’d found in the shed. He dropped it into the bucket hanging off his ladder with a rustling splat, mildly cursing himself yet again for not seeking out a trowel or scoop of some sort to assist him in his task. Ah well, too late now. Not-really-particularly muffled swearing from behind him served as a reminder it could still be worse. Stiles had come tumbling out the back door a few minutes after Peter, still hurriedly zipping up his hoodie. His irritation at realizing he was the last one out was only exacerbated when he was directed towards a worn, if well cared for, lawnmower that looked older than the teen himself. Lena had long since disappeared inside, the hoodie had long since been discarded, and Stiles had restarted the mower at least five times in the last two hours or so. Although to be fair, the few times Peter had turned to look, all the lines were straight and even despite his apparent difficulties.

Glancing over towards where Derek was attempting to prune back some of the branches on the towering Douglas maple whose seasonal cast-offs Peter was currently fishing from the gutters, he caught him watching his boyfriend with a mix of concern and amusement. He knew without a doubt that his nephew would have switched Stiles jobs if his own hadn’t involved being up a very tall ladder with sharp blades. As it was Peter was waiting to see him leap to his rescue at the slightest hint of trouble (just because he could understand the instinct didn’t mean he wasn’t still deeply entertained by the imagined visual.) His ongoing distraction reared its furry head again, however, as a particularly brave squirrel that apparently had a nest in the tree reappeared to chitter angrily at the person loudly removing chunks of its home without permission. Just as the last few times, Derek ignored it for as long as he could before finally flashing his eyes at it with a threatening growl, sending it scrambling for cover. Peter knew it would be back (the urge to record one of the confrontations on his phone to send Stiles later was almost overwhelming, but there was no way to do it without being caught given his current positioning.)

He heaved a few more handfuls into his bucket, until it was nearly full, and what debris was left was past his current reach. Climbing back down the ladder (he never thought he’d be so glad of all the stairs at Derek’s decrepit loft), he emptied everything into the large trash can sitting at the edge of the garage and shifted the ladder over again. Thankfully this would be the last section to clear, at least. Before he could start back up, however, Lena leaned out the back door and called them all in for lunch. Stiles was sprinting for the door almost before the mower stopped moving, the two wolves following at a much more sedate pace. For the sake of his own sanity, Peter opted not to think about how much in the way of dead leaf matter was currently decorating the front of his shirt. Tucking the gloves into a back pocket, he met Noah’s mirth-filled gaze with raised eyebrows, daring him to say something. Noah just shook his head, biting his lip against a smile as he handed Peter a glass of delightfully cold water with one hand, reaching up to pull a large chunk of leaf out of his hair with the other. Blinking at the brittle, yellowed wisp for a second, he nodded briefly in thanks before dropping gracefully into his seat at the table. The leftover bacon from breakfast appeared to have been turned into double-decker BLT sandwiches on what tasted like fresh baked bread. Peter fought not to inhale his, amused to see signs of the same sort of strain in his fellow temporary landscapers. Speaking of.

“So, I notice that despite threatening the rest of us about ducking out of the outside work, I’ve yet to see you grace us with your presence,” Peter commented mildly to Noah, grabbing himself another handful of potato chips. Noah didn’t even so much as twitch.

“That’s not true, I never once threatened Derek,” he replied just as calmly. “And I’ve been helping with the indoor chores. It’s not _my_ fault if you assumed working outside was your only option.”

Peter narrowed his eyes at the other man, vaguely noting Stiles sending his father a rather irritated side-eye of his own. He said nothing, continuing to eat his chips with a slow deliberation as he stared the other man down. Noah just shrugged at him nonchalantly.

“As I’ve pointed out before, you can always ask. You might even be surprised at the answer you get.” Something swirled in the ocean depths of Noah’s eyes as he met Peter’s accusing stare, but it was gone before the wolf could get a lock on it. His scent was just as annoyingly placid as his expression, so he let it go for now.

“He’s been playing electrician in between helping me with the cooking. You don’t think I made that bread, do you? I haven’t the patience or the arm strength for that much kneading,” Lena said, crunching into a pickle spear. “Besides, I needed time to decide which recipes to irritate Ruth with this time.”

Peter let his eyes rove over Noah’s arms as he pictured that, and then very quickly filed that visual away for later. Apparently he was a bit less subtle in his attentions than he planned; her gaze held a very knowing and amused glint as he met it. Peter ignored this. “This time?,” he inquired smoothly.

“I’m the one who knows all the handed-down recipes in the family, and I’ve refused to share them with her. Which is why when Ruth insisted on having the rehearsal dinner at her place because she can never resist an excuse to show off, Lia was adamant about making it a potluck.” She shrugged eloquently. “Also I’m just a much better cook.”

There was a chorus of choked off snorts around the table. Peter sent her a charming smile. “Well, if this weekend’s offerings are any indication, I’m entirely inclined to believe you, and very much look forward to whatever you decide on for this evening.”

“Mmm.” She directed a teasing glance Noah’s way. “Quite the flatterer you’ve found yourself here.”

Peter tilted his head in consideration as he picked up his water glass. “Is it really flattery if it’s true, though?” He punctuated his question with a long sip (this would prove to be a mistake.)

“He does certainly enjoy a chance to prove how clever his tongue is,” was Noah’s calm reply, and while Peter did not almost spit out his water like he almost had his coffee the day before, it most assuredly tried to go down the wrong pipe, as the saying went. Luckily Stiles again provided a distraction from his own troubles as the teen attempted to inhale his most recent bite of sandwich in his shock. Derek thumped him soundly on the back to help clear his air way as Stiles spluttered and coughed. By the time the chunk was dislodged Peter had finally managed to clear his mind of the series of VERY distracting images that comment had called forth. Stiles sent his father a watery glare.

“Just one meal! Just one meal where I don’t end up mildly traumatized. Is that really too much to ask for?!”

“Wouldn’t want you and Zoe to run out of things to talk about,” Noah said with a shrug. Peter was about to ask who he was referring to, when Lena broke in.

“Well, I’d say it’s about time for dessert. The sooner everyone finishes their projects, the more time everyone will have to clean up.”

She headed to the kitchen and brought back a plate of tiny muffin tin peanut butter cheesecakes that were so delicious Peter thought he and Stiles might come to blows over the last one before Derek suddenly swooped in and nabbed it. The look of injured betrayal on Stiles’ face almost made up for the loss. Derek just raised his eyebrows at him as he continued to enjoy his ill-gotten prize. Lena and Noah were both smiling at the pair’s antics as they started gathering up the dishes and taking them over to the sink. Peter was about to offer his assistance (it would only be polite after all, it certainly wasn’t any sort of delaying tactic), when Noah locked eyes with him, raising one eyebrow with a very pointed look. After a few seconds of charged staring, Peter smoothly stood and pulled the gloves from his back pocket, slipping them on and heading for the back door as though it was what he’d always intended to do. Stiles followed him with a huff, Derek rolling his eyes as he finished his last bite and rose to join them.

With a (mostly) suppressed sigh, Peter climbed back up the ladder and started clearing his final section of gutter. The front areas of the house had gone relatively quickly, clear of the maple tree’s influence. This back length however… After a while he heard the garage door open and close, and then the low grade buzz of an electric motor began to echo from the far side of the garage along with the distinctive sound of spraying water. Just as Peter finished digging out the worst of the remaining clumps, Noah rounded the far corner of the garage, a bright green power washer in tow as he hosed down the brickwork. He bit back a number of caustic remarks, figuring Noah wouldn’t hear him over the water anyway, and worked on clearing the last of the debris. By the time he reached the edge where the garage met the house, Peter was leaning against the roofline, staring down from the high ground of the ladder with the haughty intent of a dozing predator. (Mostly he was attempting to ignore how much the sight of the other man in safety glasses, work gloves, and the other typical attire favored by handymen was _doing things_ to him that were frankly ridiculous and currently very much uncalled for.) Noah finished up the last corner before casually switching the washer off and raising his glasses to the top of his head to glance up at the lazing wolf. He seemed completely unfazed by any latent threat in Peter’s gaze, which didn’t help the simmering arousal trying to flood his system in the slightest. Peter tried to keep the snark out of his tone, with a middling amount of success.

“So, were you planning to tell me that there were other tools available that would make this easier, at any point?”

Noah remained unimpressed. “Seeing as I wasn’t out here when you volunteered for it, I’m not when I would have done that. Lena didn’t mention it because she didn’t think the neighbor that had borrowed it had ever returned it, but I decided to check anyway.” Just because this explanation was completely reasonable didn’t mean Peter was ready to concede his irritation. Luckily, Noah didn’t seem to be waiting for him to. “And while the front may have been okay, if you’d tried that with the gutters back here, given the shape they were likely in, you’d have ended up creating a waterfall of sludge that would’ve left you looking like you’d crawled through a swamp.”

Peter could feel a smug grin curling his lips. “That sounds rather like the voice of experience.”

“Let’s just say there are many reasons I’m glad I didn’t grow up in the age of camera phones.”

A sharp bark of laughter escaped Peter at that, as he reached down to grasp the handle of the power washer head as Noah held it up to him. He was holding it by the nozzle to get it high enough for Peter to reach, and even though Peter knew, he _knew_ , he shouldn’t, the most strangely and unexpectedly playful feeling came over him, completely bypassing his normal control. With supernaturally enhanced reflexes he pulled the trigger, hoping there was still some water and built-up pressure in the hose. Noah’s eyes widened with sudden understanding, but not quite quickly enough, as he was immediately and thoroughly doused with the remaining water. Peter swiftly moved the washer head out of the other man’s reach as Noah spluttered and wiped off his face. The long-suffering sigh and reproachful look Noah aimed at him was somewhat ruined by the sound of Stiles’ hysterical laughter.

“Was that entirely necessary?”

Peter let his eyes rove up and down Noah, watching the way the droplets clumped and sparkled in his lashes, dripped slowly down the lines of his neck, and the way the worn white cotton of his shirt clung wetly to his shoulders and chest, turning almost translucent. He felt his grin stretching even wider.

“Yes. Yes, I think it very much was.”

Noah rolled his eyes so heavily Peter was amazed his glasses didn’t slide right off the back of his head. Blithely ignoring Derek’s low, amused mutter of _“real subtle, Uncle Peter…”_ that was intended for his ears only, he let his gaze drop briefly to Noah’s chest. His tone was as dry as the other man was damp.

“I take it the water was indeed just as cold as you threatened it would be, Sheriff?”

Somewhat confused, Noah glanced down before pointedly clearing his throat and crossing his arms over his chest, the tips of his ears taking on an adorable flush. “If you’re done demonstrating less maturity than the majority of the pack teenagers, I’ll leave you to your gutters. Given how much time your mind spends there, you should have no trouble finishing them on your own.” He glanced over to where his son was still collapsed half-over the mower, wheezing softly, and fondly shook his head before turning back to Peter. “I’m going to go change into something less likely to cause hypothermia in this weather.”

“Shall I come help you warm back up, then?” Peter’s smile was as wicked as his tone (and one hundred percent serious, but Noah didn’t need to know that.)

“By the way,” Noah went on as though Peter hadn’t spoken, “I already checked the front gutters, and they were flowing fine, so you’ll only need to worry about these.” He nodded at the back off the house, arms still firmly crossed. Peter blinked at him, momentarily nonplussed.

“Oh. Thank you for the assistance.” He desperately hoped that didn’t come out quite as awkwardly as he was afraid it did. What he could see of his nephew’s expression in his periphery was less than reassuring.

Thankfully, Noah just nodded at him before heading through the back door. The sound of muffled snickers from Lena served as an excellent distraction from the fact that Peter was nearly certain that Noah had winked at him as he turned towards the door. Which was obviously an absurd idea. Obviously he’d just been blinking more of the water out of his eyes. It had only looked like one eye instead of two because of the angle. Obviously. Shaking off his wayward thoughts, he focused on checking the now-cleared gutters to make sure they were draining properly and the downspouts weren’t clogged, and that none of them were pulling away from the fascia. Pausing, he belatedly recalled that Noah had turned the power washer off, so he climbed back down the ladder to restart it, remembering to grab the bucket of debris just before it was out of reach. He methodically tested all the gutters, leaving the ones nearest the tree for last, figuring they had the highest likelihood for issues. As he blasted out the drainpipe nearest where Derek was finishing his tree surgery, Peter chanced a look at his nephew, only to find him studiously avoiding his gaze, eyebrows faintly tilted and expression serene. Peter narrowed his eyes at him.

“Whatever it is you think you’re seeing that’s amusing you so much, I can assure you is only a by-product of your warped imagination.”

Derek finally looked at him, one eyebrow swooping up as a very knowing smirk curved up one side of his mouth.

“Need I remind you that this is all nothing more than a charade designed for your and your dearest Stiles’ benefit?”

Both eyebrows were now climbing incredulously towards Derek’s hairline, his smirk still firmly in place.

“Oh, shut up nephew, no one asked for your input, anyway.” Peter spun back to complete the last of his repairs, just barely catching the way the smirk on Derek’s face turned into the tiniest of grins as he turned back to his own work.

Making sure the replaced gutter brackets were firmly attached, he gratefully descended the ladder one last time. He lowered it and took it and the bucket back to the shed, leaving the gloves where he’d found them. The power washer he turned off and rolled over to sit by the back door, glancing over to where Stiles, finally done with the mowing, was sprawled on the edge of the patio, shamelessly ogling his boyfriend.

“You know, Stiles, I’m sure Lena would very much appreciate someone power washing the winter grime from the patio,” he called, loudly enough that if anyone was still in the kitchen they’d have heard him, and his suggestion.

He quickly slipped through the back door before the teen could swear out a reply. Glancing towards the kitchen, he saw Lena standing at the stove, vigorously stirring a sizzling pan that smelled of carmelizing onions and pork. More delicious aromas were wafting from the oven itself; tomatoes and beef and cabbage. Her fuzzy robe from this morning had been traded out for a hooded tunic sweatshirt in a lovely orchid shade, over yet another pair of matching plaid leggings. Peter tried not to think too hard about it. She sent a brief look his way as she laid her spatula in the spoon rest and turned away to pull a pitcher out of the fridge.

“Gutters all done?”

“Everything’s cleared and flowing smoothly,” he replied with a small nod. “I did have to replace a couple of brackets near the tree, but there should be significantly less wear and tear in the future once Derek finishes his pruning.”

“Excellent. Thank you so much for tackling that for me. I have absolutely no head for heights.”

“It was my pleasure.”

“Oh, somehow I highly doubt that, but the sentiment is appreciated all the same,” she commented wryly as she met him at the edge of the dining room with a glass of what appeared to be freshly made lemonade.

He accepted it with a charming if surprisingly genuine smile of thanks. It was the perfect blend of tart and sweet, and wonderfully refreshing. Peter drained it in almost one shot, then speculatively let his gaze drift between the refrigerator and the doorway as he debated whether to pour himself another glass or head upstairs to deal with all the leaf bits and other matter he could feel currently decorating his person (which was something else he was trying not to think too hard about.) Slightly misinterpreting the exact nature of his internal deliberations, Lena shot him a quick wink as she resumed her cooking.

“If you hurry, you may still catch him in the shower,” she said mildly, her teasing tone disturbingly reminiscent of her ‘nephews’. “Depending on which thirst you’d rather quench right now.”

Peter determinedly ignored the shrieking dial-up noises his brain began making at that suggestion, and let his smile turn wicked as he returned her wink.

“Well, then, if you will excuse me. Some opportunities simply must be seized when they arise. And I’m sure the lemonade will be just as refreshing later on.”

“I suppose that depends on just how long you decide to spend ‘seizing’ your ‘opportunity’. There may not be any left.”

He paused in the doorway to throw a last roguish smirk over his shoulder. “In this case I feel that’s a risk that is definitely worth taking.”

Her sparkling laughter and the bright flickers in her scent that he was beginning to recognize as amusement trailed him up the stairs. When he reached the bedroom, he found Noah checking something on his phone as he absently rifled through his duffel bag. The work jeans and damp tee had been traded out for the jeans he’d worn to the Farmer’s Market last week and a black crewneck sweater that Peter was ninety percent certain had come from Nathan’s shop. It was perfectly fitted, and looked exquisitely soft to the touch. He felt even more disheveled by comparison, even as he thoroughly appreciated the view. Noah glanced up as he entered and headed over to his own luggage to dig out fresh clothes, eyes practically glowing with merriment as he gave the wolf a curious once-over. His ability at keeping it from bleeding into his voice and expression was middling at best.

“Everything go okay?”

“Aside from the fact that your aunt thinks I came up here for a quickie, everything went fine.” Peter watched with amusement as Noah suddenly fumbled his phone into his open bag and had to scramble after it.

“Is, uh. is there any particular reason she, uh, might have come to that conclusion?” That adorable blush was starting to shade the tips of his ears and darken the line of his cheekbones again. Peter felt a deep-seated urge to taste it. He shoved the feeling aside to be explored later.

“She mistook my desire to get clean for more of an interest in the personalized assistance I might be able to get in doing so.”

“Ah.” Noah’s gaze drifted off to focus on a middle distance for a moment before he shook his head and blinked several times in rapid succession. “I guess that’s an understandable mistake, all things considered.”

“Mmm. Although it does mean that you should probably wait a little while before heading back downstairs, lest she get the impression there’s any sort of lover’s quarrel at play.”

Noah sighed. “Luckily for you, my part of the cooking is mostly done or in the oven at this point.” He snagged a slightly tattered paperback out of his bag before grabbing the remote off Peter’s nightstand and dropping onto the loveseat. “I’ll assume that when I hear the hair dryer turn on it’s been long enough, I guess?”

“That confident in our stamina, are we?,” he couldn’t help but tease as he headed towards the en suite. The dark glare he received in response was rather ruined by the blush that had yet to fully fade away, and Peter smirked cockily as he closed the door behind himself. Finally catching sight of his reflection in a mirror, he fought the urge to twitch. Crushed leaves and dirt clumps were sprinkled like confetti down the front of his shirt, highlighted here and there with damp spots from the power washer. He refused to even examine the state of his hair, spinning to turn on the shower and shedding his bespeckled attire as quickly as possible. Slipping gratefully beneath the warm spray, he let it flow over his neck and shoulders for a few minutes, washing away dirt and tension alike. He took in a slow, deep breath and released it, realizing too late that this was perhaps a bit of a miscalculation, the air still redolent with the lingering scents from Noah’s own shower. Peter caught sight of Noah’s t-shirt hung on the back of the bathroom door to dry, and felt his hands start to drift again as the images from earlier began to play through his head. Maybe...maybe if he was very, very quiet… There was the sudden blaring of a car commercial from the bedroom TV mercifully distracted him, reminding him that Noah was quite literally on the other side of the wall, which was both very helpful in curbing his urges, and also very much not. Ruthlessly cramming all inappropriate thoughts and possible scenarios down as far as they could go, with yet another promise to himself of later (god, he wasn’t going to leave his bed for a week after he got back at this rate. He hadn’t had problems like this since he was sixteen), he forced himself to hurry through a quick shower to get rid of the worst of the grime, washing his hair twice just in case.

Hitting himself with another blast of ice cold water to clear his head and reduce his...distraction…, he stepped out of the shower and wrapped a towel around his waist. Even though he wasn’t planning to use it yet, he grabbed the hair dryer and switched it on in the hopes of gaining himself a bit of alone time (though sadly not the type of _alone time_ he could most use right now.) In short order he heard the TV turn off and the bedroom door close, Noah’s familiar heartbeat fading as he headed for (presumably) the kitchen. Peter rolled his shoulders with a sigh before determinedly shaking it off and focusing on getting ready for the rehearsal dinner. It would be their first attempt at pulling off their charade in front of a large crowd (though it was perhaps less of a charade than Peter had initially supposed.) He wasn’t particularly nervous about being found out, he’d just rather not have to deal with the ensuing drama if they were. He shrugged to himself as he neatened up his scruff and styled his hair. At least he wouldn’t be the one having to deal with it in the future. As Peter was pulling on the change of clothes he’d brought in with him, he realized he’d unconsciously grabbed a black sweater, as well, although his own was a cashmere blend with a much looser, more open neck. He debated picking something else, but ultimately decided not to bother. Couples did that sort of thing, didn’t they? Peter was fairly sure some even took pride in it. He headed back into the bedroom to make sure he had everything he needed, snagging the leather jacket he’d brought along just in case. After one last look in the mirror hanging over the desk, he made sure to hit the lights and headed back downstairs.

When he reached the kitchen, he was pleased to find only Noah and Lena, both working on getting what looked like almost an entire dinner’s worth of food packed into various insulated totes and carriers. It seemed only polite to offer to help, and for once they took him up on it. Peter was vaguely reminded of their Farmer’s Market trips given the amount of creatively packed bags they ended up with. Derek and Stiles finally joined them just as they were finishing, Derek in a maroon sweater with thumbholes, of all things, and Stiles in a comparatively subdued plaid in predominantly the same hue, over a charcoal _Star Wars_ tee. Peter couldn’t decide if seeing them matching made him more sure of his decision to stick with his own look, or more desperate to run back upstairs and change. Given the way Noah was cheerfully loading him down with food containers, eyes dancing with mischief, it didn’t much matter anyway. Finally they had apparently packed up everything that needed to be brought, and Lena began herding them towards the front door. As he hit the threshold, Peter straightened up with a sigh. _Well_ , he thought, _let’s get this show on the road, shall we?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And next chapter we will finally, FINALLY get to the rehearsal dinner, and a whole crud ton of new OCs. (Oh god, I'm so nervous '>.> )
> 
> As of this chapter this has now passed 40K and I don't quite know what to do with that. I never really expected to end up writing fic at all, let alone something this long. I hope that you're all still enjoying it, at least! :D Thank you all so much for all the kind words and encouragement so far!
> 
> Comments, con crit, and other feedback is always welcome! (Though please remember this is totally unbeta'd.)

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you're enjoying so far. Fair warning that this story is not finished yet, but I do have a decent amount of it done, and most of the rest sketched out, so hopefully the wait won't be too long between chapters. I'm going to try and stick to a schedule on this, but with my impulse control, we'll see how that goes. XD
> 
> Comments are greatly welcomed, concrit too as long as you at least try to be nice about it. Feel free to suggest tropes for me to consider if I don't have them yet, or songs for the slow dancing because I have a lot of ideas and am having difficulty narrowing it down. Thankfully, that's quite few chapters off, and song titles likely will only be mentioned in passing.
> 
> Title is from Bering Strait's 'I Could Be Persuaded', which incidentally has been one of the songs under consideration.


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